


In Vino Veritas

by Feathery_Malignancy



Series: TOG/ACOTAR MODERN AU [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Banter, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, lawyer!Nesta, sommelier!Cassian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2020-06-03 18:37:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 64,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19469797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feathery_Malignancy/pseuds/Feathery_Malignancy
Summary: Nesta Archeron is convinced she has everything she wants: a law degree from an ivy, a prestigious job, a gorgeous boyfriend, and excellent taste in wine. However, when she wanders into her local wine vendor and meets a handsome stranger unafraid to play her quick-witted games, she begins to wonder if the life she’s built is really the one she wants.Cassian “Cash” Kahukore worked his entire adolescent life to become a sommelier, ignoring the slurs his mixed heritage have always earned him as he fought his way to the top. However, after five years abroad buying for Michelin star restaurants and dealing with rich white assholes, he’s grown bored with his life. When a gorgeous lawyer comes in to his uncle’s shop one afternoon, he immediately recognizes a worthy opponent in her. Undaunted by her sharp tongue and possessive boyfriend, he’s determined to be her friend, and—as time goes on and their circumstances change—possibly something more.





	1. Cheval

## In Vino Veritas: A Nessian Story

_“In wine lies the truth”_

##  **Chapter One: Cheval**

Nesta Archeron had worked hard to get to where she was. She’d helped raise her sisters before putting herself through college and law school, and as a young associate she’d stayed at the office long after her contemporaries gone home. As a reward for her sacrifices—and the success they’d awarded her—Nesta always treated herself to the best of everything. She wore the best clothes, dined at the best restaurants, and—of course—drank the best wine. 

That’s why she only ever bought from Merchant of Vino. Sure, it was a stupid name, but she’d done her research, and it was undoubtedly the best wine vendor in the Bay Area. They sold all her favorite Napa reds, and the owner was a man named Devlon who knew his stuff and never tried to look down her blouse.

Nesta was a person who thrived on routine—on ritual—and going to Merchant had become one of her favorites since arriving in San Francisco the previous year. 

That was, until the day said ritual was disrupted.

It had started out like normal: she got out of court in the early afternoon and battled traffic to North Beach, already considering what she would order. She hadn’t bought Spring Mountain in a while, and after the day opposing counsel had given her, she was in the mood for something thorny. 

The quaint little bell dinged when she stepped inside, and she took a minute to admire the familiar racks before glancing to the bar...

She frowned. 

“You’re not Devlon,” she said in greeting, and the man behind the counter—who looked to be in his late twenties— glanced up from the where he’d been shelving bottles and laughed. 

“Very astute; I’m not.” 

She crossed her arms across her chest. She didn’t like to be teased. She felt a stab of annoyance when he reached up to shelve a final bottle and she caught a glimpse of his ridged stomach and the making of an Adonis belt, visible above the waistband of his low-slung Jeans. She especially didn’t like being teased by attractive men. As an attorney, she got enough of that in her day job.

“I’ve never seen anyone else work here,” she clarified. 

She didn’t bother to sound polite, but if her tone bothered the stranger,he didn’t show it. 

He only shrugged, gesturing she take a seat in one of the well-loved leather barstools before leaning his forearms on the counter. They were as corded as the rest of him, and covered with what she recognized as Māori tattoos. 

“Then I guess it’s your lucky day: I know more about wine than Dev could hope to learn in ten lifetimes.”

When she only responded by pursing her lips, the stranger’s grin widened. Nesta fought not to admire him as leaned a fraction closer. 

With long hair tied back in a bun at his crown and heavy gold hoops in his ears, he was nothing like the clean cut and classically-handsome guys she usually went for. Still, she couldn’t deny he was rather devastating. 

He was tall and broad, his powerful chest and tapered waist cutting an inherently masculine silhouette which—much to her chagrin—Nesta couldn’t help admiring.

His bronze skin and glossy dark hair spoke to the island heritage his tattoos had already hinted at, and his eyes…

Nesta didn’t want to dwell on how much green they had running through the ribbons of hazel, or how they glittered as they continued to study her. 

She sniffed and glanced down to adjust the watch at her wrist, if only to escape the fact she’d been checking him out, _hard_.

“That’s a rather lofty assessment,” she said finally. 

He shrugged. 

“It’s true.”

“Jury’s still out,” she shot back.

He gave a throaty laugh, taking the opportunity to look her up and down. However, it wasn’t in the leering way she’d grown accustomed to, as if she were a cut of expensive meat. He seemed to be taking her measure instead. From the way he smiled—teeth diamond bright against his full lips—it was clear he’d been satisfied by what he’d found.

“Challenge accepted. I’m more than happy to blow your mind, free of charge.”

She snorted, ignoring the potential double meaning. This felt dangerously like flirting, and if there was one thing Nesta Archeron never did, it was flirt. 

“You really think I’m that easy?”

His grin widened, and she rolled her eyes. Okay, fine, she’d walked into that one. Still, she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, and everything about this guy seemed to suggest he’d be a worthy opponent.

“Okay, maestro,” she said, setting her bag down and finally taking a seat. “If you’re so smart, pour me a glass of something you think I’ll like.”

He considered, biting his annoyingly-plush lower lip as he surveyed her again. It was more openly appreciative this time, but still never strayed below her chin.

“What do I get if I guess correctly?”

She gave him a deadpan look, the kind her male colleagues had suggested could melt flesh from bone. 

“A tip.”

He bubbled his lips in dismissal. 

“Woman, I don’t work here for the tips. I’d rather have your name.”

She considered, hating how much she was enjoying this. It had been ages since she’d had a decent sparring partner.

“Fine,” she said. “But know that if you’re wrong, I’m not giving you either.”

He only laughed before grabbing three glasses from where they hung on the rack and lining them up on the bar top between them.

“I’ll take my chances.“

He glanced back at her, drumming his fingers against his lips as he considered. He then pulled out three bottles, a white and two reds. When he’d poured a taste in the first two glasses and two fingers-worth in the third, she frowned.

“This is cheating.”

He only laughed again, eyes alight beneath his devilishly arched brows. They made him look dangerous in a way Nesta refused to admit suited him. 

“Trust the process,” he said, gesturing to the glass of white.

“Now, this is what you think _I_ think you like: Rombauer Chardonnay out of the Napa valley. Aged in French oak with notes of vanilla and an earthy, buttery finish. Too rich to make a good sipping wine, but still an inexplicable go-to choice for mansplainers trying to impress their female friends.” 

He paused to give her a roguish smile, which she rewarded with a shrug. He was right; she hated buttery chardonnays, but it was still what men always assumed she’d want.

He swished the the Rombauer before swallowing the small measure in the glass and moving to the next, a plum-colored red.

“This is what _you_ think you want: Nickel and Nickel Cabernet. It’s complex and beguiling and just the kind of fleshy, bold California red a power broker like yourself is conditioned to love.”

She ignored the jab and picked up the glass, bringing it to her nose. She was greeted with the smell of dark berries and cassis, and it made her mouth water.

“You should have quit while you were ahead,” she said, throwing back the small measure and letting the taste envelop her palate. “Far Niente is one of my favorite vineyards.”

He just smirked, gesturing to third glass.

“Not so fast, because this is what you _actually_ want. Chateau Cheval Blance from the St-Émilion appellation in France. A light structure, perfect in its tension between floral and mineral notes. Truly, this is terroir at its finest.”

She gave him a tight smile.

“I’m not a Old World wine person,” she said, pushing the empty Cabernet glass towards him in silent request he refill it. “Better luck next time on the tip.”

He responded by pushing the French blend towards her instead.

“Humor me.”

She pursed her lips before picking up the glass. She could smell dark cherries and wood smoke, and something floral that she couldn’t place but that was all the more tantalizing for its elusiveness. 

Begrudgingly she took a sip, and it was an effort not to let her eyes roll back in her head. It was silky, but not in the cloying way that Chardonnays sometimes were, and the flavor seemed to blossom, sweet plum giving way to dark berries and something earthy that had her toes curling in her expensive Louboutin heels. Truly, she wasn’t sure she’d ever tasted anything so divine.

He studied her reaction before flashing a wicked smile and leaning in. 

“So what’s your name, Gorgeous?”

Struggling to compose herself, she hastily set down the glass.

“I have a boyfriend,” she snapped. 

The man seemed undaunted by her declaration though, and if he noticed her sudden unease, he didn’t comment. Instead, he re-filled her glass before pouring one for himself.

“I have no doubt,” he said, touching his glass to hers so the crystal sang. “But that isn’t what I asked.”

She watched him as he took a sip, his throat working as he swallowed. Good Lord, he was handsome. 

She mentally slapped herself. She had a boyfriend, and perfect taste in wine aside, she shouldn’t be indulging this stranger in whatever game he thought he was playing. Tomás would be _furious_ if he found out. 

This in mind, she settled for scowling.

The stranger laughed.

“It’s not like it matters,” he said, twirling the stem of his glass between long fingers. “Unless you’re a drug dealer who plans to pay cash for the case of Cheval of you are so _obviously_ going to be buying, I’m going to see it on your card anyway. Besides, no one likes an oath breaker.”

She took another sip of wine to hide her smile. They weren’t flirting, she assured herself. They were just...talking. Talking was perfectly innocent. Tomas couldn’t get angry at her for talking.

The man waited, and eventually she relented.

“Nesta.”

“Nesta...?” He prompted, and she rolled her eyes.

“Nesta Archeron.”

He extended a hand.

“Cash.”

“Please tell me that’s a nickname.”

He only laughed in response.

“Are you always this charming, Nesta Archeron?”

His hand remained between them, and after a beat of hesitation she took it. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm the minute they touched, and she found herself fending off a flush as she tugged her hand back. Still, they remained close. Closer than she knew she should allow, even as she failed to pull back to a safer distance.

He watched with keen interest as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear before meeting her gaze again and saying, “yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, it’s a nickname. Cash is short for Cassian, though I don’t think anyone’s actually called me that since my mom died.”

A pang hit her, a familiar ache that still wrenched at her ten years later. 

Without fully understanding why she was doing it, she blurted, “my parents are dead, too.”

He frowned for the first time since they’d met. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

It was an automatic response, the one she always gave to avoid people asking more questions. It didn’t feel like a long time ago, though. At least, the pain hadn’t dulled the way it should have. Some night she still caught herself wishing her mother were there to tuck her into bed.

“I’m still sorry,” Cash said, brushing her ring finger with the tips of his.

It was a feather-light touch—a gesture of comfort and solidarity—but it still had Nesta’s stomach knotting. She pulled her hand away and he didn’t fight her on it, glancing up to give her a soft look instead. 

“I know how hard it is, being on your own.”

Nesta bristled. 

“I’m not alone. I’ve got two younger sisters, and my—“

“—boyfriend,” he said, leaning back even as he smirked. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.”

She couldn’t help it; this time, she flushed. However the look gave her said he had no intention of pushing the issue. 

She imagined what Elain would say were she there, and she grit her teeth before forcing out, “I didn’t mean to imply that you—“

“Don’t apologize,” he said, eyes glittering as they skated over her face again. “Beautiful girl like you, it...wasn’t a bad assumption. Still, you have nothing to worry about from me, I promise.”

She nodded, surprised to find a twinge or disappointment. She attempted to bury the feeling by shouldering on.

“So where is Devlon?”

Cash shrugged, folding his toned arms across his chest in a gesture his white T-shirt struggled to accommodate.

“He had to go back home to handle some stuff and I’d just gotten back to town, so I told him I’d watch the shop for awhile.”

“How long will he be gone?”

Cash grinned, taking another sip of wine. 

“Sick of me already, Archeron?”

She only pursed her lips in response, and he laughed.

“I didn’t ask. But long enough that you’ll get to see me again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His grin was a slash of white across his tan face, and she looked away to avoid blushing again. This was definitely too close to flirting for Nesta’s comfort. One more glass and she might—

“I should go,” she said abruptly, draining the last of her wine. “It was nice meeting you, Cassian.”

She picked up her bag and was halfway to freedom when he laughed. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

She turned back, and he gestured to the racks of wine all around them. When they made eye contact, his grin grew wicked. 

“Or did Dev already tell you his gorgeous nephew was taking over the shop, and you just came to check out the goods yourself?”

She grit her teeth, trying not to admire said... _goods_ , especially the ones she could make out through his thin t-shirt and fitted jeans. 

“You’re an ass,” she growled, stalking back towards him. 

“C’mon, you love it.”

“Don’t make me gut you will my shoe. It’s impossible to get blood out of suede.”

He only laughed. 

“Why do I get the sense you’d actually do it, too?”

“Because I don’t make idle threats,” she snapped.

“I’ll believe that,” he said, eyes alight. “Alright, enough teasing, then. What are you looking for? Besides the Cheval, obviously,” he added, winking. 

She debated ordering three cases of Nickel and Nickel just to wipe the smirk off his face. However, she quickly decided it was an exercise in futility; he’d know why she was doing it, and the Cheval really was too divine to pass up.

“Yes, you insufferable bastard, I will have a case of the Cheval.” When he grinned in reply, she added, “And a bottle of Ferreira Garrafeira.”

He gave a low whistle. 

“That’s expensive stuff. And I thought you said you didn’t like Old World wine?”

“It’s not for me; it’s for Tomás.”

She could decide if she felt pleased or guilty when his smile slipped a fraction before recovering, too bright to be wholly genuine.

“Ah. the famed boyfriend, I presume. He’s certainly got...interesting taste.”

When she bristled, he went on hurriedly.

“In wine! Obviously his taste in women is...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh. 

“Yes?” She said archly, not wanting to admit how much the comment had stung.

With sisters like Elain and Feyre, Nesta was used to being dismissed as the frigid, uptight sister. It didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

However, Cash wasn’t looking at her in that way men often did, as if she were some poisonous insect he was afraid might sting him. His expression softened.

“Impeccable,” he finished, and it was so unexpected she flushed. 

He cleared his throat before going to the computer behind the bar to consult the shop’s inventory.

“We don’t have the Garrafeira in right now, but I can order it for you. The Cheval is in the back.”

“Don’t worry about the port,” she said, regretting the outburst now. “He’ll—live.”

Cash turned, brows furrowed. 

“Are you sure? I can—“

“It’s fine,” Nesta repeated. “Thank you.”

Cash nodded and disappeared into the back before reappearing with a wooden crate a minute later. The strain of holding it was doing glorious things for his arms, and she cleared her throat.

“Thank you,” she said, making a great show digging in her bag for her wallet to avoid looking at him again. 

“Where are you parked? I don’t want you snapping your neck walking on those pencils you’re calling shoes.”

She pursed her lips.

“You’re hilarious. How much do I owe you?”

However, he was halfway to the door already.

“I have a friend who distributes for Cheval. This one’s on me.”

“No!” She called, following after him. “Cassian, come back! I don’t need your charity!”

Cash turned to smirk at her over his shoulder.

“With that handbag? I’d say not. Besides, this isn’t charity. It’s...an investment.”

She scowled at this, and he gave an exasperated laugh.

“Don’t get thorny on me, Archeron. I just meant—“ he broke off, laughing again. “Think of it as a perk for being a regular. Buy ten cases, get one free.”

“This isn’t Jamba Juice,” she said, deadpan. “And I don’t like owing people.”

“Look,” he said. “I wasn’t lying about my friend being a distributor. It’s not going to cost the shop anything. Now, where is your car? I think my arms are going numb.”

She bit her lip, debating what this might end up costing her. She didn’t believe in “free”, and she didn’t like feeling like she owed someone; she’d had enough of that from people when she’d been taking care of her sisters after their parents died. 

Then again, she’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested in him... _like that_ , and she’d certainly bought her fair share of wine here over the last few years...

“Fine,” she said, gesturing to her Land Rover. “But take this, at least.”

She pulled out a fifty from her wallet, and Cash rolled his eyes.

“I’m not the pizza delivery boy; I don’t want a tip. Just, promise not to call me Cassian again. That’s all the payment I require.”

She didn’t move, the bill still outstretched. He heaved the crate into her open trunk before shutting it.

“I swear to god, woman, put that away before I shred it to ticker tape. I don’t need your charity, either.”

She relented with a huff, and he laughed. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” she admitted, and he smiled, leaning against her car.

“No one is stopping you.”

She grit her teeth, irritated and flustered in equal measure.

“Thank you,” she finally managed. “For the wine.”

“‘And for blowing my mind’,” he prompted, and she flipped him a foul hand gesture, civility forgotten.

“If you think that’s all it takes to blow my mind, you have a lot to learn about women.”

He bit his lip, eyes full of amusement as he peeled himself off the car.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he said, flashing her a quick wink. “Until next time, then, Nesta Archeron.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but for once words failed her. She instead stood, gaping like a landlocked fish as he sauntered around her and back into the shop.

> \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cash was distracted for hours after Nesta Archeron left. Even as he met with reps and worked on organizing his uncle Devlon’s pathetically arcane inventory system, he found his eyes kept wandering to the door, as if she might come sauntering back in. Damnit, why hadn’t he told her the Cheval was out of stock? Then at least he would have had a guarantee of seeing her again. Depending on her drinking habits, it could be months before she came in again. Fuck, he was so _stupid_.

Not that it mattered, really. How many times had she managed to force her boyfriend into the equation? Twice? Three times? Definitely enough that he knew he should get the message. And he understood; he really did. Like all guys his age, he’d been raised on a steady diet of “if she’s not interested, try harder”. It hadn’t been until he’d gotten into his twenties that he’d realized how fucked up that was. When women said no, men needed to respect that and not keep pushing.

The problem was that despite all the clumsy mentions of her boyfriend, she’d still stayed when she easily could have left. Besides, if she thought he hadn’t seen her checking him out, she was insane. Not that he blamed her, obviously. If he was a woman, he’d want to fuck him, too. 

Before he could catch himself, his lizard brain was imagining what being in bed with her would be like. His pulse thrummed. It wasn’t so much the idea of sleeping with her as it was imagining what a courtship like that would be like. She was definitely hot, but her body had nothing on that gorgeous brain. It was clear she was a woman of supreme intellect; he’d have to seduce her mind if he ever wanted to earn something physical. 

It was the kind of intellectual challenge he craved, and one he hadn’t had in ages before she’d come in. He wanted someone who could dish it back, and Nesta Archeron clearly knew how to give as good as she got.

His phone rang, and he glanced at the caller id before huffing and picking it up.

“If you’re calling to ask if the shop has burned down yet, the answer is no.”

His uncle Devlon laughed.

“That place is the closest thing I’ll ever have to a wife; I just want to make sure you’re treating her right.”

“I’ll show her a good time while you’re away,” Cash promised, pouring himself a glass of a new Rioja the rep had dropped off that afternoon. 

“Don’t make sex jokes about my baby,” Dev said. “And stop drinking my merchandise!”

“I’m not!” Cash said, setting down his glass. “Relax, old man. And is Merchant your wife or your baby? You should probably decide; you’ll freak people out if you keep using them interchangeably.”

“Very funny, wise ass. How’s it being back?”

“This place hasn’t changed a bit in ten years,” Cash said, looking around appreciatively. “But you need to get a decent table in here so you can host tasting. Why didn’t you call my friend Az like I told you to? He does gorgeous work.” 

“You must think I’m a lot richer than I am,” Dev said. “I’ve seen his designs; you think I can afford a ten thousand dollar table?”

Cash rolled his eyes.

“He said he’d do it at cost. Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I’m not going to prey on your fancy friends. Tell him thank you but I can’t swing it.”

“Fine.”

Dev sighed.

“Why do I feel like you’re just going to do it anyway?”

“Because I’m as stubborn as you. How’s Koro?”

“Not a spry as she used to be, but she’s managing just fine. She wants to know when her favorite grandson is coming back. She says the Ritz on Maui is looking for a sommelier.”

“Tell her my days of working for rich white assholes is behind me,” Cash said.

Dev considered.

“You could open your winery here, you know. Volcanic wine is popular with the _haoles_.”

“Didn’t I just say I was done with rich white assholes?”

“Fine, fine.”

There was a pause in which Cash weighed his options before he added in what he hoped was a casual tone, “If I said the name Nesta Archeron, would that mean anything to you?”

“The lawyer? Sure. She comes in about twice a month. Nice girl, once you get past her prickly side. Why?”

Cash swirled his wine.

“Just wondering. She came in today.”

Dev gave a gravelly laugh.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree. She’s got a boyfriend.”

“So I’ve been warned. Have you met him?”

“She’s brought him in once or twice. Portuguese dude.”

“Nice?”

“Not particularly. He’s very possessive of her. Really rubbed me the wrong way.”

Cash felt a prickle of irritation himself. What was a brilliant, fiery woman like Nesta Archeron doing with a controlling prick for a boyfriend? She should be with someone who respected that sharp tongue, someone who could—

“Don’t even think about it, Cash. She’s one of my favorite customers. I don’t want you to scare her off with your panting.”

“I don’t ‘pant’. Also, can you blame me? Man, those legs, and her _eyes_ —“

“I mean it,” Dev interrupted, voice firmer this time. “If she brought up her boyfriend, it means she wants you to fuck off.”

“I’m not going to bother her. I was just....curious.”

“Well don’t be. That creepy boyfriend will nail your balls to the wall if he finds out you’re trying to move in on her.”

“I respect her choices, but I don’t give a shit about him. He can suck my co—“

“I think you’d better accept that _no one_ in that relationship wants your tiny pecker.”

“Tell that to the way she was looking at me today.”

“Just because you’ve got a cute ass doesn’t mean she likes you.”

Cash groaned.

“Fine, forget I said anything.”

Dev chuckled.

“Don’t be sulky. I’m sure there’s plenty of women in the Bay Area that would be happy to take her place.”

He was right, but somehow it didn’t make Cash feel any better. There was no shortage of beautiful women in San Francisco, but none of them interested him quite the way she had. There’d been no denying the wrenching disappointment when he’d realized she wasn’t single. Then again, had he really expected someone like her to be? And she was lawyer to boot. He gave a huff of amused appreciation. He should have known.

“Right,” Dev said, interrupting his reverie. “Well I just wanted to check in, sounds like everything is fine there. I will tell Koro you said hi. Remember, I’m charging you for any of my wine you drink.”

Cash snorted.

“You’re getting my expertise for free. I’ll drink all the wine I want.”

“Fair enough. Take care of yourself, _pōtiki_. And no more hitting on my customers!”

“I wasn’t—“ Cash began, but the line clicked off, and he swore, even has he caught himself laughing a little.

He’d been second-guessing the decision to come back from London since he’d arrived two weeks ago. Today, for the first time, he felt he was exactly where he was meant to be. 

He’d thought he might owe Nesta Archeron another case of wine for that, boyfriend or no. He just hoped she wouldn’t make him wait too long for the opportunity.


	2. Ornellaia

## Chapter Two: Ornellaia

A dinner party, Nesta repeated her herself as she drove. She’d had a dinner party. And it was true: she _had_ had a dinner party. It wasn’t her fault that her friends had drank through half a case of the Cheval in a single evening. 

And it wasn’t as if she’d thrown the party just so she could have an excuse see Cassian again. It was just a coincidence. A… _consequence_ of the dinner party. He couldn’t question her being back so soon when she had an explanation as logical as a dinner party.

Yes, this wasn’t about Cassian, she promised herself as she parked her car. This was about the dinner party. 

This in mind, Nesta only stole a quick glance in the mirror to make sure she didn’t look too harried before stepping out of the car. People had dinner parties all the time, she reminded herself as she strode to the door and threw it open. There was nothing strange about friends drinking wine at a dinner party.

She took a deep breath and stepped inside the Merchant of Vino to the tell-tale chime, her face smoothed of any telling emotion. A dinner party, she repeated to herself. A normal, boring dinner party.

Cash grinned when he saw her, and she straightened, adjusting the bag on her arm.

“There she is,” he said, straightening from where he’d been leaning over the bar organizing open bottles in the well. “Back so soon?”

“I had a dinner party,” she said breezily. “And my friends are big drinkers.”

He raised his eyebrows, and she tried to ignore how good he looked with his with his hair down. It was longer than she’d first thought, nearly brushing the collar of his T-shirt, and good _lord_ did it suit him. 

He smirked and made to comment, either on her dinner party or her assessment of him, but she sidestepped any further questions by looking him up and down and offering, “didn’t have you pegged as a guy who wore joggers.”

She gestured to the fitted track pants he wore, and he laughed. 

“A consequence of too much time in England, I’m afraid,” he said, returning to his task. “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a chav.”

She bit back her assurance that they looked good on him, not wanting to muddy the waters. 

Still, she couldn’t help going a bit slack-jawed as he continued organizing. The way the dark cotton hugged his toned backside was one shade of grey off from being downright indecent, and God forgive her, Nesta was here for it. 

She glanced away as he straightened, pretending to be studying the new banquet table that now adorned the space. 

“This is beautiful,” she said, trailing around it to get a better look. When she noticed the elegant _M_ insignia branded into one corner she turned, incredulous. 

“Is this a Macar?”

Given her love of beautiful and expensive things, Nesta made it her business to stay current on the hottest trends in food, fashion, and design, and right now, there was _no one_ more adored in the design world than Azriel Macar. 

He owned a studio out of LA, and despite being under thirty, he was already the darling of the taste-making elite. He’d been compared to icons like Ray Eames and Mies Van der Rohe, and a Vanity Fair article Nesta’d recently read had hailed him “The Future of Furniture.” 

He was also—like any good icon—seemingly spotlight-adverse, and given how young and handsome he was, his elusiveness only seemed to add to his cache. Still, whether his talent or his brooding charm, his designs were white-hot, and owning an original had grown virtually impossible.

Cash looked up, smiling. 

“You have a good eye.”

“Where did you _get_ this?” Nesta said, still admiring the way the table’s grain flowed in elegant patterns across its surface. “The last I heard, the waitlist for a piece was two years long, and even then it was only celebrities and hedgefund managers.”

Cash turned and smirked. 

“I have my ways.”

Nesta pursed her lips, and he laughed. 

“Az and I—go way back. He made me that special so I can finally start hosting tasting in here. I love Dev, but he wouldn’t know a good business opportunity if it slapped him on the ass and rode him to Hong Kong.”

Nesta was too surprised too laugh.

“You’re friends with Azriel Macar? Curiouser and curiouser.”

Cash laughed. 

“Don’t feed the legend, please. The last thing this world needs is Az with an ego. And I wouldn’t say friends, exactly. More like brothers. We’ve known each other forever.” Cash huffed another laugh. “Hell, I’ve known him since he was still Azriel Machlan.”

As soon as he said it, he winced.

“Fuck, please don’t repeat that. Az would be devastated if it got out.”

Nesta was dying to ask more questions, but hearing the slight desperation in his voice, she decided not to push. Instead she nodded and locked her lips, moving from the table to study a map of the Napa valley on the wall.

She could feel his gaze as he studied her in profile, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to snap at him or bask a little longer under its warmth. 

After a beat she turned to face him, expecting him to look away. Men, she found, were generally adverse to maintaining direct eye contact with her. _It’s their color_ , a male colleague had once explained. _I swear, one look from you is cold enough to freeze my balls off._

Cash, however, didn’t blink. Feeling off-kilter, Nesta pursed her lips, though she refused to break contact.

“What?” She demanded. “Why are you staring at me?”

“Technically you’re also staring at me,” he said, and she could see his grin in the way his eyes crinkled. “Not that I blame you.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, finally breaking the connection.

“You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled.

“I’ve been called worse. I was just about to open a bottle from Tuscany one of my reps dropped off. Can I tempt you?”

His tone was light, but he couldn’t quite disguise the heat in his gaze as he glanced at her again. However, it faded just as quickly, and Nesta found herself wondering if she’d imagined it. 

“I told you I’m not a fan of the Old World stuff,” she said, even as she took a seat.

“I thought we’d gotten past that with the Cheval! You were in love and we both know it.”

He grinned, and she had to savagely fend off a flush. 

“Stopped watch is still right twice a day,” she sniffed. 

He gave a velvety laugh born low in his throat.

“You’re never going to make it easy, are you, Archeron?”

“Not my style.”

He bit his lip and grinned before pulling the band from his hair and re-tying it up and away from his face.

“Fine. Get your pencil out, then. I’m taking you to school.”

She rolled her eyes to keep from smiling. 

“Don’t hold your breath.”

He laughed, leaning over the counter slightly. She could smell the crisp scent of sage from the soap he used, and she tried to ignore how nice it was. 

“That’s rich, coming from the woman practically climaxed from one sip of a French red.”

She should be annoyed—insulted, even—but she found she couldn’t fend off a smile this time. He grinned at seeing her reaction, raising his brows.

“Looks like I know more about women than you thought.”

“Shut up and pour the damn wine.”

“Hang on,” he said, grabbing the bottle that had been sitting on counter and heading towards the back. 

“Where are you going?”

He smirked over his shoulder. 

“To get the big guns. I know what it takes to impress you.”

He reappeared with a different bottle, presenting it to her as if they were in a fine-dining restaurant. 

“2015 Ornellaia Bordeaux from Tuscany. This stuff is always amazing, but 2015 was the _perfect_ harvest year. The fruit and balsamic notes come through with such clarity, and it’s incredibly silky on the tongue.”

He paused to glance up at her, expression slightly wicked. She rolled her eyes. 

“You know your tawdry innuendos are wasted on me.”

He laughed. 

“Sorry, force of habit. You ready?”

He pulled a wine key inlaid with turquoise from his back pocket and removed the cork in four elegant twists. 

“Show off,” she said, and he grinned. 

“Admit it, you’re impressed.”

“Maybe a little.”

“And slightly turned on?”

Something bright and effervescent bubbled in her stomach as he grinned at her. However, when she thought of Tomás would say if he could see her right now, the feeling curdled.

“You know I’m not afraid to slap you,” she said, finding with surprise she didn’t want to ruin the moment even though I knew she should be reestablishing firm boundaries. 

“Don’t tempt me with a good time. Okay, in a perfect world we’d let this breathe a little more, but I’m going to assume you don’t have two hours to spare.”

He poured her a measure, and she held it up to admire the color before taking a sip. It was tannic and slightly sharp on the front end, but the mineral flavor quickly gave way to rich fruit and—just as he’d said—an incredibly smooth finish.

“That’s—“ she broke off, laughing as she admired her glass. “You really are good at this.”

He raised his eyebrows with a smirk.

“It’s almost like it’s my job.”

He took a sip and let his eyes flutter shut as he held it on his tongue, and it was beautiful in the way only pure enjoyment could be.

“In England, you were a somm?”

He nodded. 

“London.”

“Why did you leave?”

“When you love something, doing it for a living gets…tricky. I liked being able to teach people about wine, but there’s only so much rich douchbaggery a person can endure before the damage to their psyche is irreversible. Basically it was come back or turn into a douchebag myself.”

She gave an obliging nod.

“Seems prudent.”

“What about you?” he said, studying her with scrutiny. “I’m going to guess…lawyer.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t pretend you just pulled that out of thin air.”

He laughed.

“How else would I have known?”

Her heart thumped in her chest as she debated calling his bluff. If she was wrong, she’d look foolish, which is obviously hated doing. And if she was right…

“Maybe you asked your uncle about me. He knows I’m an attorney.”

Cash considered this before taking another thoughtful sip. 

“Would you be angry if I had?”

“Depends on what you wanted to know.”

He shrugged. 

“Nothing I hope you wouldn’t tell me yourself. Unless being a lawyer is a CIA cover, and you don’t like people looking too closely?”

She laughed. She wasn’t sure what to make of his admission or—more importantly—what she wanted it to mean.

“No intrigue, I’m afraid. I’m just a boring lawyer.”

He shrugged again, but he was smiling now, much of the tension melting from his shoulders.

“That’s exactly what a spy would say. And you did threaten to disembowel me with your shoe…be honest, am I on the right track?”

She leaned forward, dropping her voice. 

“Stop asking questions that could get you killed.”

He laughed. A big, genuine laugh that warmed her from the inside out. She’d often be called smart, or sharp-tongued, or witty, but no one had ever thought to tell her she was funny. No one but her sisters, and even then she worried they were just trying to make her feel better. Cash though—he didn’t know her. He had no reason to pretend. She knew it was girlish and naive to be charmed by that, but she found she couldn’t quite help it.

“Alright,” he said. “Enough messing around. Admit you love this wine so I can start my gloating.”

“I never said I loved it,” she said, taking another prim sip. 

Cash gave a look of theatrical dismay.

“You hate it. Fuck, I knew it. I’m so sorry, let me just—“

He reached for her glass as if to pour it out, and she quickly snatched it out of his reach.

“I never said I didn’t!” She clarified, batting his hand away.

“Such a lawyer’s response. C’mon, Archeron, don’t be stingy!”

“Fine,” she said, giving an imperious sniff. “I… _like_ it.”

Cash grinned, leaning forward again. 

“Now admit you like me.”

She opened her mouth to choke out a retort before her phone began ringing. 

It was Tomás. 

She glanced at the glass Cash was refilling for her and debated letting it go to voicemail. She knew she couldn’t, though; it would just lead to more trouble. 

Flashing Cash an apologetic look, she picked it up.

“Carinho,” she said, flipping into Portuguese to avoid Cash’s overhearing. “How was your day?”

“Where are you, my love?” Tomás said. “I just got home and you’re not here.”

“I had to stay at work,” Nesta said, the lie slipping out before she could stop it. “I’m sorry.”

“You never mentioned that you’d be out late,” Tomas said, and Nesta could hear the annoyance in his voice. “I expected to see you when I got home. How much longer?”

Nesta glanced at her full glass and then at Cash, who’d gone about cleaning the worn bar top.

“An hour,” she said. 

“We agreed you’d stop doing this. Last night you were out with your sister until almost ten.”

She fought down a searing stab of frustration. It wasn’t often that Elain could get away to come see her, and Tomás always threw a fit when she went down to Palo Alto for more than a day. 

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,“ she said, gentling her tone. “I love you.”

“No later than eight, querida. I’m setting a timer.”

“I’ll see you then,” she said, ending the call before he could say anything more.

What was she doing? She knew what kind of mood Tomás would likely be in when she got home, and if he ever found out the truth, he would be livid. It was dangerous game, and one she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why she was still playing. 

Nesta put away her phone before looking up to find Cash watching her, eyes hard. 

“What?” She snapped, voice thinner than she would have liked. 

Cash’s frown softened, though his expression remained uncharacteristically grave.

“You don’t have to lie to him,” he said in a soft voice. “You aren’t doing anything wrong.”

Nesta felt her heart drop into her stomach.

“You speak Portuguese.”

Cash frowned again as if deciding whether he wanted to press the issue. He eventually settled for shrugging.

“My mom was Brazilian. I was born in Forteleza and lived there until I was twelve.”

Nesta didn’t have to ask what had changed. She felt the familiar ache swelling in her chest, and she nodded, wishing she knew how to comfort him the way he’d comforted her. Instead she forged on. 

“Where did you go after that?”

“To live with my dad’s family in Hawai’i. He died before I was born, but my grandmother was there. I went to stay with her.”

“How long has your family lived there?”

He gave a puzzled frown. 

“What do you mean?”

Nesta felt her tongue fizzing the way it often did before she said something she terrible before she blurted, “Aren’t you Māori? I would have thought you family would have been in New Zealand.”

He gave a humorless laugh and crossed his arms. “Am I supposed to be charmed by the fact you know there’s a difference? Forgive me, I left your ‘Woke White Woman’ trophy at home.”

“I didn’t—“ she broke off, glancing down before looking back at him. “I’m sorry if that was insensitive. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

He considered this, expression still wary. 

“I’m not to give you a pat on the back for every brown-person cultural detail you manage to force into the conversation just so you can feel better about your white guilt.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she said. “But I am sorry. I—won’t do it again.”

“I won’t hold my breath on that,” he said. 

When he looked away, she dared to brush his forearm with the very tips of her fingers. 

“Cash, I’m sorry.”

His skin was warm and surprisingly soft, and she could feel the muscles beneath flex at her touch.

When he seemed to relax, she quickly let her hand drop.

“How did you even know?” He paused, narrowing his brows. “And if you mention either Jason Momoa or The Rock, I’m throwing you out.”

She opened her mouth to point out that neither of them was Māori before quickly shutting it, knowing it would only make things worse. She’d always had a pathological need to prove how much she knew, but after the rebuke she’d very fairly earned, she knew the conversation couldn’t withstand much more strain. 

“Your tattoos,” she said, fighting off the urge to tell him how beautiful they were. She didn’t think he’d be particularly charmed by that comment, either. 

He rolled his eyes at her response, though the tension seemed to have melted from his shoulders. 

“I’ll ignore the fetishistic implications of that, but only because I happen to _enjoy_ the way you ogle me every time you think I’m not looking.” 

She made to object, but he was already forging ahead. 

“And to answer your question, yes, both my grandparents are from Waitomo. But my grandfather was a bad dude, so grandmother took her boys and moved to Hawai’i to get away from him. I know it killed her to leave, but she felt like she didn’t have her choice.”

He heaved a soft sigh.

“She made it work, though. She’s very proud of her culture, and she made sure we never forgot where we’d come from. Still, she was always very respectful of my mother’s heritage as well. She insisted I keep up speaking Portuguese so I wouldn’t lose the language when I got older. I admit I don’t speak it very often anymore, but thanks to her, I’m still fluent.”

“She sounds like an incredible woman,” Nesta said.

“She is,” Cash agreed, a grin forming as he paused. “Man, she would like you.”

Nesta flushed and looked away. She already felt guilty for lying to Tomás; she shouldn’t push it anymore than she already had. 

Cash seemed to note her unease because he leaned back, crossing his arms.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You said you had two sisters. What are they like?”

She considered this for a moment, and he laughed, shaking his head. 

“C’mon, Archeron. You owe me something after your little white knight routine.”

Nesta gave a begrudging nod and pulled out her phone to show him a recent picture.

“This is Elain. She’s my academic. Perfect score on her SAT and a full-ride to Stanford. She’s already looking at going to grad school at Yale. I swear, she’s going to change the face of scholarship one day.”

She paused to study the smile on Elain’s face in the photo before pointing to her youngest sister. 

“That’s Feyre. She’s my artist. She starting at Berkeley next month, and she’s definitely going to be famous; her work is incredible. She’s also my workhorse. I’ve never seen anyone put their shoulder to the wheel quite like she does. It’s so great to watch.”

She glanced up to find Cash studying her, all the contempt for her early indiscretion melted from his face. 

“Your folks died when you were young, then.”

Nesta shifted in her seat. “How did you know?”

“Because you talk about your sisters like they’re your kids.”

She glanced down into her glass before extending it for him to refill and beginning to speak. 

“I was sixteen when my parents died, but Ellie and Fey were still little; twelve and ten. My aunt and uncle were technically our legal guardians, but they were Sacramento. I didn’t want to uproot my sisters from their lives on top of everything else, so I convinced them I could handle it.”

She paused, watching the wine as it eddied in her glass. 

“The house was already paid off, and I had enough money from the life insurance payouts, so I just—made it work. I had loads of help from neighbors and family friends, and when it came time to go to college, I went to Stanford so I could still live at home with them. By the time I left for law school, Elain was in college herself, and Feyre was at art school in Boston, so I could still keep an eye on her.”

“Harvard.”

“Excuse me?”

Cash smiled. 

“I assume that was you way of making sure I knew you went to Harvard Law School.”

She curled her lip.

“I’d rather die.”

He laughed. 

“Yale, then.”

She shrugged, making him smile.

“I bet they idolize you.”

Nesta shrugged again.

“Elain, maybe. She was also the easy one. Feyre was a lot more headstrong. We mixed it up pretty hard when she was in high school. I got a call once that she’d been caught with weed in her dorm room, and I drove two hours up to Boston to yell at her in front of all her friends before I took her iPhone away. I think she hated me for a solid year after that.”

“How about now?”

Nesta smiled.

“Now we’re…good. She’s grown up a lot in the past two years, and she’s always been such a sweet, giving person. She’s still a little boy-crazier than I’d like, though.” She paused to give him an assessing look. “She would be all over a guy like you.”

Cash flashed a self-satisfied smirk, and she pursed her lips, pointing a finger in his direction. 

“Don’t even think about it.”

Cash snorted.

“High school seniors aren’t my type,” he said, eyes glittering as they flitted over her again.

She flushed, even as she wrestled the question of what his type actually was off her tongue. It was none of her business, and besides, she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear the answer.

“Still,” Cash said. “I bet we would get along. I was something of a renegade myself in my younger days.”

“I can only imagine. Though I don’t get the sense that your grandmother was one to suffer much bullshit from you.”

“She was _not_. One time in high school she caught me with a girl in my bed, and she dragged me buck-ass naked into the kitchen and lectured me for twenty minutes about respecting women and teenage parenthood. I had to just stand there with my junk in my hands while she screamed. I’m pretty sure everyone in the neighborhood heard her.”

Nesta couldn’t help it; she laughed. She laughed so hard that she had to set down her glass to keep from spilling on herself, and after a while Cash joined in.

“It wasn’t funny,” he said, still laughing. “I think she gave me a complex. I didn’t have sex again until I was like twenty!”

When she’s finally mastered herself, Nesta made to ask him for more stories before her phone started ringing again and her heart sank into her gut.

It was Tomás. Fuck, had it really been an hour already?

“I have to go,” she said hastily. “Thank you for the wine. It was excellent.”

“Take it with you,” he offered. 

She glanced down at the bottle then up at him, biting her lip.

“I can’t come home with that,” she admitted in a quiet voice, and his face tightened.

“Are you afraid of him?”

“Of course not,” she said automatically. “I just—he gets upset.”

Cash crossed his arms, and she was suddenly aware of how big he actually was. Normally that might have made her nervous, but with Cash… 

“What does he have to be upset about?” Cash demanded. “You’re allowed to have a life.”

“I have to go,” she said, ignoring his searing but plaintive expression. “I’ll—see you.”

“Nesta—“ Cash protested, but she was already hurrying to the door, redialing the phone and praying Tomás would be in an obliging mood when she got home. 

———————————————-

It had been three weeks since Nesta had come by the shop, and Cash was about ready to jump out of his skin. Honestly, it was getting sort of pathetic. He found himself perking up ever time the bell chimed, and getting quietly annoyed when he realized it wasn’t her.

He knew it was ridiculous for him to pine after a woman he barely knew, but he couldn’t help it. She was so damn smart, and her eyes, and that _laugh_ —he’d gone weak-kneed when he’d first heard it, and now it was all he could think about. 

Fuck. Why did she have to a have a boyfriend, and why, on top of everything else, did he have to be a huge prick?

Cash groaned. He needed a drink. He was in the back room deliberating what he was in the mood for when the bell chimed, and he forced himself not to get excited. It was Saturday; so far as he could tell, Nesta only ever stopped by after work. However, his heart sped up when he glanced at the security monitor.

It _was_ Nesta, wearing a trendy sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants he swore might be the death of him. Her legs were beautifully muscled, and her heart-shaped ass was so perfect he wanted to cry.

Hastily checking his reflection in one of the glass panels of the white cellar, he strolled into the front of the shop, smirking.

“Be honest,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Are you stalking me? 

Nesta pulled off her sunglasses and gave him a withering look, but there was no heat behind it.

“You wish,” she said, flicking her long braid over her shoulder. Cash tracked the gesture keenly, fascinated by the fluid grace in the way she moved. 

“Maybe I do,” he admitted. “Alright, what will it be today? I just got a Shiraz in from Brisbane yesterday that I think you’ll love.”

Truth be told, he’d ordered the Shiraz specifically to impress her. She didn’t need to know that, though.

“I’m actually looking for a German Riesling,” she said, setting down her bag and sitting on the new table. 

An image of fucking her on top of it flashed through his mind, and he cursed himself for being a swine before giving her a playful frown.

“Have you been body snatched?”

“Ha-ha,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It's for me. My sister asked me to pick it up for her.”

Cash smirked, crossing his arms.

“A likely story.”

Nesta pulled out her phone and put it on speaker, and a second later a sweet, lilting voice spilled out.

“Hey Nes, it’s Ellie! Will you do me a huge favor? I’m meeting Gray’s parents for the first time tonight and I forgot to get his mom something. Can stop by that wine shop you always go to in North Beach and get me a bottle of nice Riesling? I promise to pay you back! Love youuuuu.”

“Who’s Gray?”

Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Graysen. He’s Elain’s idiotic boyfriend. Don’t even get me started.”

Cash was tempted to point out that Nesta wasn’t in any real position to be judging unworthy boyfriends, but he kept his mouth shut. He was too excited to see her to risk insulting her and having her leave.

“Fair enough. Alright, come to the back. I’ll see what we have.”

Nesta hesitated, glancing at the door marked “Employees Only”. 

“Devlon won’t mind?”

Cash laughed, warmed by her concern for shop protocol.

“Why would he? You’re not planning on robbing the place, are you?”

“I could be,” she said, sliding to her feet. “You don’t know.”

“I think I can take you if it comes to that.”

Nesta pursed her lips.

“Please. I could totally bring you to your knees if I wanted.”

Oh, that he didn’t doubt. In fact, he was in danger of her doing it right now. It had been one thing seeing her all dressed up for work; it was something else entirely to see her so casual. It felt—intimate, somehow, like he was getting a glimpse behind to curtain into who she was when no one else was looking. It was honestly intoxicating.

“I will take that under advisement,” he said, gesturing for her to go ahead of him.

She nodded and did as she was bid, her eyes widening when he took her into the back. 

“This is amazing,” she said. “I had no idea there was so much room back here!” She wandered in between crates and peered into cabinets, eyes alight with curiosity.

“Like you said,” he offered, trailing after her. “I’m full of secrets.”

She turned to flash him a little smirk over her shoulder, and he almost tripped over a crate. If he thought seeing her perched on the table was distracting, this was much, much worse. 

“This way,” he said, leading her to the chilled white cellar and holding open the glass door. 

She stepped inside and he followed behind her. The space was tighter than he’d ever realized, and she a lot shorter. He supposed he was used to seeing her in stilletos, or sitting down. In the Nike trainers she currently wore, she barely reached his shoulder. 

“Right,” he said, inching out from behind her to lean on the nearest case. He didn’t want to feel like he was towering over her. “First things first: let’s talk price point. If she’s a college student I’m going to assume she’s broke, so let’s start around twenty dollars. I wouldn’t say we can go much lower than that.”

Nesta smirked, folding her arms across her chest. 

“I’m thinking more like two hundred. Do you have anything in that range?”

Cash laughed. 

“I do, but maybe you should run that by your sister first. Or is this some sort of usury scheme where you put her on a payment plan and charge her fifteen percent interest?”

Nesta scoffed, studying her nails self-importantly.

“Graysen is completely average in all things but his dad’s money, but he’s still decided that makes him special. Unfortunately, Elain rarely allows me to dress him down on this score, so I take my shots where I can get them.”

She shrugged. 

“He’s expecting her to come with a twenty dollar bottle he can use it to mansplain what makes a _real_ Riesling, so I’ll give her a two hundred dollar bottle instead. She’s a hero, he looks like an uneducated jackass in front of his own parents, and everyone wins.”

“Except Graysen,” Cash said, laughing.

Nesta flashed a tight smile. 

“Exactly. I can hardly think of a better use of my money.”

“Devious, but charming. Alright, I’ll play. Do you know what they’re serving for dinner?”

“No idea. I’ll call her.”

His heart thumped a little harder. She was obviously very protective of her sisters; it felt significant that she’d him in on their private affairs.

Elain answered on the second ring.

“Hi baby,” Nesta said, her voice gentler than Cash had ever heard it. “I’m at Merchant right now picking out a wine. Do you know what Graysen’s mom is serving for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” Elain said. “But Gray said that the usually drink the white before dinner. Does that help?”

Nesta glanced at Cash, and he nodded. 

“Is the younger guy working today?” Elain asked before Nesta could continue. “Claire went in there after the party because she loved that wine you had so much, and she said he’s _insanely_ hot.”

Cash felt something warm pool in his low belly as Nesta grit her teeth, cheeks pinking.

“You’re on speaker, El.”

“Oh fuck!” Elain said, her voice still sing-song. “My bad. Tell him—“

“I have to go,” Nesta interrupted. “Text me when you’re close and I’ll meet you at the house.”

She hung up and made a great show of putting her phone back in her purse as Cash watched her, grinning.

“You told your sister I was hot?”

Her gaze snapped to him, eyes blazing. They were the most gorgeous artic blue, and he wanted to tip into them until her drowned. 

“Our friend Claire Beddor told my sister you were hot,” Nesta corrected archly. 

Her tone was sharp, but somehow he could tell it wasn’t directed at him. He didn’t dare hope it was because she was jealous. 

“Reddish hair?” Cash asked. “Yeah, I remember her. She was sort of making me glad I was behind the counter. She kept giving me a look like she wanted to have her wicked way with me.”

Nesta tried to keep frowning, but he could see the smile she was wrestling off her face. 

“Crazy’s not my type either,” he said. “Just in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” she snapped, frowning again. “Who you choose to philander with is your own affair.”

He laughed to hide his disappointment. 

“Philander?” He pressed instead. “Is that what you think I do?”

All the playfulness had bled from her expression when she turned to him again. In fact, she looked almost sad. 

“I don’t care _what_ you do, Cash,” she said quietly. “It’s none of my business.”

He felt his heart sink, even though he didn’t know why. He knew she had a boyfriend. They might flirt, but at the end of the day it was clear she wanted nothing more from him than that. He needed to accept it and move on. 

“Can we just pick something?” She said, voice softer now. “I’m getting chilly.”

“Of course,” he said, clearing his throat. “Alright, a riesling worthy of humiliation. Let me see.”

He scanned the case before pulling out a bottle and showing her. 

“This is a great one out of Austria. ‘97 vintage aged in their casks then bottled in 2014, so it’s had time to develop. It is honestly a perfect sipping wine. It has—and this is a technical term—a fuckton of sugar in it, but there’s enough acidity that it’s gorgeous and refreshing instead of saccharine. I’m not really one for riesling, but if I was, this is what I’d choose to drink. I promise this will blow them away. If you like this type of wine, there is literally nothing bad you could say about the Vinothek.”

She gave an approving nod before opening her mouth. He cut her off with a laugh. 

“And yes, Nesta, it’s suitably expensive.”

She gave a begrudging laugh as well. 

“Fine, I’m sold.” 

He nodded, leading her back to the tasting room. 

“You want to try it and see what I’m talking about? I don’t have this exact thing open, but I have something similar.”

She wrinkled her nose. 

“No, thank you. I’ll just take your word for it.”

“Right,” he said, turning to the computer to hide is disappointment. He really didn’t want this be over, but he’d run out of excuses to keep her there. 

“But I will try that Shiraz you mentioned.”

He grinned, turning back to face her. 

“I knew it,” he said. “I’ve won you over.”

“Hardly,” she sniffed. “But I have a theory that you’re only good with Old World wines. I want to see if I’m right.”

“Oh ye of little faith. Aren’t you tired of me proving you wrong?”

“Not yet,” she admitted, and there was something sincere in her tone that tugged at him. 

“Very well. It’s good for my ego, anyway. This,” he said, opening with bottle with ease and pouring her a measure, “honestly flirts with perfection. It’s dark and mysterious without being too heavy, and how they’ve managed to cram so many flavors in there without having them compete still boggles my mind. If you thought you liked the stuff Far Niente makes, you are going to die over this. It’s like Nickel and Nickel’s hotter, smarter, more polished older sister.”

Nesta took a sip, and Cash swore her eyes rolled back in her head. It was so hot he had to look away for a second. Nesta clearly had an educated palette, and watching her enjoy a wine the way it was meant to be enjoyed was so sexy he could hardly stand it. 

“Fuck,” she breathed, eyes still closed. “That might be better than sex.”

Oh sweet Jesus. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that was _not_ it. He fought not to groan as his jeans got a little tighter. 

“Sorry,” she said immediately, eyes fluttering open. “I didn’t—that was inappropriate. I just—“ she cleared her throat and down into her glass. “Yes, that is incredible.”

He smirked, forcing himself not to say any of the things he was thinking. She was clearly embarrassed, and much as he was dying to push the issue, he didn’t want her to clam up, or worse, leave altogether.

“Pleased you like it, despite knowing that you obviously would.”

He grinned, and she rolled her eyes, some of her characteristic vitriol limning her features. 

“Are you this insufferable with all your customers, or is it just me?”

“Most of my customers don’t make a point of trying to undermine my talent, so I find I rarely have cause to use it _except_ with you.”

She snorted, taking another sip. 

“Please. Men like you need women like me.”

He couldn’t hold back a laugh. 

“Okay, I’ll bite: why do men like me need women like you?”

She arched brow at him, lips curving up in one corner to form an imperious smirk. It made her look both seductive and sinister, like villainess from a Disney movie. He wasn’t sure what it said about his taste in women, but he found it was really sort of turning him on.

“Because an unchecked male ego is like a landslide; it gathers speed quickly and leaves a mess in its wake. The world doesn’t have time to waste clearing your boulder-sized bullshit from the path of progress.”

Cash grinned, leaning his forearms on the counter. 

“Doesn’t that mean women like you also need men like me? You can’t keep a tongue sharp if you don’t have something rough to sharpen it against.”

She considered, eyes glittering. She was so beautiful it was almost hard to look at her.

“Women like me don’t need anything.”

“Everyone needs something, Archeron.”

She considered, eyes skating across his face. 

“I have everything I want,” she said in a soft voice. 

He studied her rigid posture and tight expression before quietly asking, “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

She looked away, huffing. He knew he’d hit a nerve about her shitty boyfriend, and he couldn’t decide if he felt validated or guilty. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she deflected, twirling her glass between elegant fingers. 

“And you,” he said, forcing himself to smile again. “Are a very worthy sparring partner. It’s highly entertaining, if slightly terrifying.”

At this she seemed to relax a little, drumming her long nails on the counter.

“You’re—adequate as well.”

He rolled his eyes. 

“I suppose that’s the best I can expect from you, so I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“Don’t be needy,” she said. “It’s not a flattering shade on you.”

“Ah,” he said. “So you admit that arrogance suits me better! I knew I’d catch you in a contradiction sooner or later.”

“Maybe you should have been a lawyer,” she sniped, but she was smiling now. “You seem to love arguing.”

“I wouldn’t have the _colhões_ to go up against someone like you in court.”

She laughed this time, and his heart rate picked up. If he could, he’d bottle the sound and sell it. It would him a make a fortune, it was so lovely. 

“Alright,” she said, sliding off her stool. “I should go so I can meet Elain. Do you have a case of that Shiraz?”

“I do,” he said. “But only if you promise you won’t serve it at your next dinner party.”

She smirked. 

“Afraid my friend Claire will come after you again?”

“Honestly, yes.”

She laughed again, a little harder this time, and he couldn’t help grinning. However, when he wondered if her boyfriend ever made her laugh like that, he found his joy dimming a little. 

“And no freebies this time,” she called as he trailed into the back. “I’m not above tattling in your to Devlon.”

He laughed as he returned, grudgingly accepting her card and ringing her up. 

It wasn’t that he thought she needed the charity—though he did always feel guilty when a customer had a total with a comma in it—so much as he hated admitting their relationship was transactional. 

When she wasn’t paying, it was easier to pretend they were just friends, and that she’d come for his company as much as the wine. It was a lot harder to do when she was handing him an American Express Black Card. 

She didn’t object as he carried the case out to her car, watching him without comment as he heaved it into her trunk. And sure, maybe he’d been flexing more than was absolutely necessary, but when she was looking at him like that, he couldn’t help it. 

“Thank you,” she said. “For being complicit in my scheme to ruin a nineteen-year-old’s evening.”

He laughed.

“Happy to help…I think.”

“You are,” she said confidently, putting the Riesling in the passenger seat. “You loved it.”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Of course I did.”

She looked a little alarmed as she swung back to face him. 

“Cassian—“

“Take care of yourself, Nes,” he said, knowing he needed to leave before he said something he couldn’t take back. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes,” she said, regaining her composure and giving him a terse smile. “I’ll see you.”

He listened to the sound of the engine as she started the car and drove away, and he prayed it wouldn’t be another three weeks before he saw her again. 


	3. Bollinger

##  **Chapter Three: Bollinger**

This time, Nesta didn’t bother lying to herself; she’d made the trip to Merchant because she wanted to see Cash.

It was perfectly innocent, though. She’d had a good day was all, and the truth was she didn’t have an over-abundance of friends in San Francisco. It would just be nice to see a familiar face. Besides, Tomás was out of town, which made this...easier than it might have ordinarily been. 

The old bell chimed as she strode in, and Cash—who’d be pouring over what looked like an inventory report behind the bar—grinned when he saw her, eyes glittering. His hair was tied up in its usual style at its crown, but today he also wore a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that made him look more distinguished, if no less roguish. She found it vaguely irritating that he seemed to get more handsome every time she saw him. 

* * *

“Let me guess,” he said in greeting. “Another dinner party.”

“No,” she said primly, setting her bag down and perching on a stool. “Today we’re celebrating.”

He grinned, teeth bright against his bronze skin.

“Are we?”

“We are,” she said. “I just won a huge case.”

“Congratulations. Unless—” he narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t defending a murderer, were you? Tell me he didn’t do it.”

“It was a civil case. Police brutality.”

Cash’s eyes softened. 

“Not just a supermodel, then. A superhero, too.”

Nesta let the comment glance off of her, unsure the sort of damage it could do her if she let it sink in. Instead she pursed her lips.

“The officer broke my client’s back during a rough ride. A man who’d done so little wrong that he was never even charged for the supposed crime he was arrested for. He was only in police custody so long because he ended up in surgery.” She shook her head. “Fifteen hours on the table, and he’ll still never walk again. I pushed for criminal charges but couldn’t get the government to prosecute, so I took the case to civil court instead.” 

She flashed a dour smile.

“I made sure there wasn’t a cent left on the table.”

Cash let out a low whistle.

“You sort of scare me, you know?”

Nesta shrugged, feeling oddly pleased by this observation. 

“Normally I only take on criminal defense cases pro-bono, but this wasn’t one I was going to let slide.”

“You fascinate me,” Cash admitted, and Nesta huffed, not wanting to let that sink in, either. 

Unfortunately, it was harder to ignore, and Nesta felt her cheeks warming.

“Maybe you just need to get out more.”

Cash laughed, eyes glittering from behind his frames.

“I’ve been out plenty, trust me.”

“Gross,” she sniped, and he laughed again.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just determined to make me a philanderer, aren’t you?”

She glanced at her watch to give herself something to do.

“You’ve yet to prove you aren’t one.”

“I can’t prove a lack of something. As for proving the opposite—“ he shrugged. “Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“I don’t care for surprises,” she said, needing to change the subject.

It felt too much like they were flirting again, and it was a line she knew she couldn’t cross. Tomás would be beside himself if he ever found out.

“Alright,” Cash said, seeming to read her body language. “Enough witty banter. What kind of champagne do you like?”

“Bollinger,” she said. “If you have it.”

Cash grinned, the gold in his ears winking at her as he propped his chin on a fist. 

“Are you sure you’re not a international super spy? That’s James Bond’s favorite, too.”

She couldn’t stifle a short laugh.

“How do you even know that?”

“When are you going to accept that when it comes to wine, there’s nothing I _don’t_ know?”

“Never,” she said in challenge. “Because someday you’re going to make a mistake, and I vow to be there to roast you for it when you do.”

Cash raised his eyebrows, leaning in slightly.

“Then I’ll be sure to make said mistake in the shower.”

“Cash,” she warned, even as she fended off another laugh.

“You’re the one making threats!” He said, holding up his hands. “I can’t help it if you occasionally fall victim to your own hubris.”

“I—“ she began, still trying to avoid imagining what Cash looked like in the shower. His thick hair slicked back, skin glistening as water ran down the arched grooves of his Adonis belt towards his thick—

She cleared her throat.

“Fine. You win this round.”

“Part of me is afraid that you’re only giving ground as some sort of tactic, but I’ll take my wins where I can get them.”

“Then I have you just where I want you,” she said, glad to have made her way back to more familiar terrority.

He laughed, going to get the champagne.

“You can have me wherever you want, Archeron,” he called, but before she could censure him for it, he’d disappeared into the back.

He came back carrying the Bollinger and two antique glasses that reminded her of Downton Abbey. 

“Nice touch,” she said, gesturing to them.

Cash flashed a self-satisfied smirk. 

“Thought you’d like these. Be gentle with them, these are Dev’s babies.”

He popped the bottle with a expert kiss of sound before pouring a measure for each of them and pushing one of the glasses to her. 

He held his up to her.

“To the justice we can get.”

She raised hers in answer. 

“Even if it isn’t the justice that’s deserved.”

Their glasses sang as they touched, and Nesta paused before taking a sip so she could watch him take his. As always, his reaction didn’t disappoint. 

His brows drew together as he gave a hum of appreciation, biting his lip as he let the flavor linger. She hurriedly took a sip herself, not wanting to get caught admiring him. She could feel him studying her in return as she did.

She let her eyes flutter shut as the satiny bubbles caressed her tongue. 

“What do you taste?”

Her eyes snapped open to find he was still watching her, head cocked slightly to the side.

“You’re the expert,” she said archly. “You tell me.”

He laughed.

“I already know the profile. I want to hear what you think.”

“Is this your way of putting me in my place after all my dress-downs?”

His grin faded, something she couldn’t quite name softening his hazel eyes. 

“Never. I just—“ some of the tension melted from his shoulder as he gave a laugh that didn’t feel entirely genuine. “You obviously have a great palette. I just want to know what it is you like about this vintage in particular. Think of it as—market research, if you want.”

She considered this, and him, because taking another sip. 

“I’d know it was champagnois even if I’d never had it before. It’s nuttier than a Prosecco or a Cava. Not as finely-edged. And the fruit in it is lightly spiced. Apple, definitely. And...pear, maybe? It reminds me of Christmas.”

She glanced up to find him looking at her. 

“Well?” she said, feeling oddly embarrassed. “How did I do?”

“Spot on,” he said. “Though no surprises there. You would have made a great sommelier. A big part of the job is painting a picture that makes people fall in love with the wine. That description was painfully charming.”

“Don’t be obsequious,” she warned, even as she felt herself preening a little from the compliment.

“No idea what that means,” he said with a grin. “But I will do my best. How did things turn out with your sister and the Riesling?”

Nesta flashed a feline smirk, one she knew sent most men running for the hills. 

“Better than I could have hoped,” she said “Graysen’s mother wouldn’t stop raving about it. Her new favorite, she said. Even better than the bottle Graysen got here for her birthday last year.”

Her smirk widened as he shook his head, laughing. 

“You’re gonna put this poor kid in therapy.”

Nesta sniffed, taking another sip.

“He’s made Ellie cry more than once; he can burn in Hell for all I care. Besides, he couldn’t be less worthy of her if he were were a clown car mechanic. I’m going to throw a gala they day they break up for good.”

“If you could invent a perfect man for Elain, what would he be like?”

“Quiet,” Nesta said immediately, and when Cash laughed, she added, “I’m serious! Graysen is constantly talking, and she can never get a word in when they’re together. She has so many interesting things to say; she deserves a guy who wants nothing more than to listen to her all day.”

“A wallflower, roger that. What else?”

Nesta considered. 

“Someone who does sweet things for her. Elain’s love language is acts of service. Men always want to buy her expensive things or spouts odes to her beauty. What she really wants is someone who will pack her a sack lunch or get her car washed. Also dark-haired. Grown men shouldn’t be blonde.”

Cash grinned, eyes slight. 

“He sounds like a dreamboat. Maybe I should let you find me someone, too.”

Nesta was surprised at how much the comment ached. Not that she begrudged Cash meeting a woman; he certainly deserved it. She just—didn’t want to have to imagine it. 

“I don’t know you well enough to make an accurate assessment,” she sniffed, trying not to seem too desperate as she poured herself more champagne. 

Cash opened his arms in invitation. 

“What would you like to know?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes as she considered. 

“How do you feel about Beyoncé?”

Cash laughed.

“Is this a trick?”

“Answer the question, please.”

“The Lemonade album deserves a permanent exhibit at the Smithsonian as a pillar of human achievement.”

She nodded in approval.

“Good. At least I know I can trust you now.”

“That’s your litmus rest?” He laughed. “What were you going to say if I say no?”

“Leave and never come back, obviously,” she said. 

“Fair enough,” Cash allowed. “What else?”

“Best Hogwarts house?”

“Alright, this one is too easy. Gryffindor.”

Nesta feigned a gag. 

“That is the most offensive thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Daring and chivalrous! Those aren’t favorable traits to you?”

Nesta sniffed imperiously. 

“Self-important and braggadocious, you mean. Besides, there’s nothing more dangerous that a person who’s convinced they’re right.”

He shook his head, chuckling. 

“I feel so foolish. Everything about you screams Slytherin; I should have seen that question for the trap is was.”

“You know why I’ve been so successful in the courtroom?”

“Because you’re brilliant?”

She dismissed the compliment with a flick, even as it warmed her from the inside out.

“Because most of the time I’m going up against self-righteous prosecutors who’d rather waste their time beating their chest and waxing dramatically to the jury about my client’s character, instead of arguing the facts. It makes mounting a defense and tearing them to ribbons almost comically easy.”

“Like I said,” Cash offered, studying her with unchecked appreciation. “Fascinating.”

“I’ll change your mind before this is all over,” she said. “Mark my words.”

He leaned in slightly, enough that she could smell his clean scent again. 

“Looking forward to it.”

They studied each other for a moment, and this time it was Cash who looked away, chuckling quietly to himself. 

“What else?”

“Tell me secret. Something no one else knows about you.”

He considered this before turning over his forearms to show her his tattoos.

“I cried like a baby when I got these.”

She put her chin in her hand, if only to resist the urge to trace the slightly-ridged ribbons of ink. The designs were exquisitely tendered; whoever the artist was, they’d known what they were doing.

“Why?” she asked finally. 

He laughed. 

“Because they fucking hurt!”

She pursed her lips to indicate she wasn’t buying it, and he laughed again, glancing down at his forearms. 

“Growing up, I just always felt like—I don’t know—a mongrel. When you’re a kid all you want to do is fit in, and being mixed, I never really felt like I did. I was—weirdly resentful I couldn’t just be like everyone else. I had my gran in my ear always spouting all this Māori stuff, but I just wanted to be Hawaiian. It wasn’t until she took me back to Waitomo when I was in high school that I got to see my culture for what it was—mine. I wanted to wear that pride on my skin.”

“So when you got the tattoos...”

He nodded.

“When I got the tattoos, I felt like I was reclaiming something I’d lost. Not just a sense of belonging, but a connection to my dad, who I never got to meet. It was—really emotional.”

“Did you take anyone with you?”

“My friend Ro. He was the only other Māori kid in my neighborhood growing up, so our families were always close.”

Cash laughed, adjusting his glasses. 

“You should see him. His tats cover almost the whole left side of his damn body. If he hadn’t wanted to be a cop, I’m pretty sure he’d have gotten them on his face. We had to convince him to stop mid-neck.”

Cash glanced down at his own again, and Nesta couldn’t resist. Gingerly she reached out to follow the band on diamonds that studded along his wrist. She watched his skin pebble under her touch, and she pulled her hand back, knowing she was being unfair. 

“That sounds—intimidating,” she said instead, trying to shift the conversation back.

Cash shrugged.

“He’s a sweet dude underneath all the gruffness, but yeah, he’s pretty terrifying with all that ink. I suppose it doesn’t help that he’s also 6’6 and looks like a jacked Anderson Cooper.”

She had to laugh. 

“What does that even mean?”

“He started going grey when we were still in high school, and now he’s completely silver. It’s annoyingly dashing.“

Nesta snorted. 

“The silver fox trope is such a double standard. If I was completely gray, no one would be gushing over it.”

Cash considered. 

“I feel like you would be very striking as a silver vixen. Besides, I thought women dying their hair gray was a thing now?”

“How do you even know that?”

Cash laughed. 

“My friend Rhys is a...great lover of females.He loves to opine on all the various trends.”

“Is that your polite way of saying he’s a playboy?”

Cash shrugged.

“His dad’s a billionaire. Az and I think he didn’t hear the word ‘no’ enough as a kid, and it’s made him restless and hedonistic. When he meets the right girl, though, it’s going to be game-set-match. I know it.”

“Thats...charming, I suppose.”

“You’d like him,” Cash said before pausing to laugh. “...I think. His cousin I think you’d definitely like. In fact, I’m having a friend from Paris in next week to host a tasting, and Mor will be there. You should come and meet her.”

Nesta’s heart leapt at the opportunity. She loved getting dressed and going out, and she was in rather desperate need of female friends. Still, there was Tomás to consider.

“I know that look,” Cash said. “So let me beat you to the punch: you can bring your boyfriend, and whoever else you want.” 

“Elain would love it,” Nesta said, not wanting to admit that Tomás wouldn’t, especially when he saw Cash.

Still, she was reasonably confident she could convince him. 

“Maybe I’ll tell her to bring Graysen, and your friend can embarrass him in front of everyone.”

Cash shook his head, giving a resigned chuckle. 

“You are terrible.”

Nesta admired her long nails self-importantly. 

“Please, you love it.”

She immediately regretted saying it. She wasn’t oblivious to the way Cash sometimes looked at her, and she didn’t want to blur any lines by being over-flirtatious. It wasn’t fair to him, and it definitely wasn’t fair to Tomás. And if he ever found out she’d been saying things like that to another guy behind his back, he’d never let her step foot in the Merchant again.

“I admit I’m morbidly curious about this guy,” Cash admitted. “Though I don’t want your sister to hate me for humiliating her boyfriend.”

“She’ll love you,” Nesta blurted, and realizing her misstep, forced herself to add, “maybe I’ll set you two up once she gives Graysen the boot.”

The idea made her stomach roil, especially when Cash smirked.

“First you accuse me of philandering, and now you want to set me up with your precious baby sitter? Pick a lane, Archeron.”

Nesta shrugged mechanically.

“At least I’d know she was being treated the way she deserves.”

Cash laughed, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back on the bar.

“I don’t want to date your sister, Nes.”

Nesta ignored the way something in her black heart fluttered at the declaration, pursing her lips in feigned annoyance instead.

“Why not? Gorgeous and brilliant aren’t your type?”

Cash laughed.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that gorgeous and brilliant are every guy’s type.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Nesta had no idea why she was pushing the issue. She had less than zero desire to see Cash pursue Elain.

Cash only laughed again, an edge of exasperation souring the otherwise rich sound.

“Maybe I’m too afraid of you. I can only imagine what kind of cruel and unusual torture you’d cook up for me if things didn’t work out.”

“I’d flay and barbecue you at a low heat,” Nesta affirmed, and Cash grinned, his expression easing slightly.

“Exactly. Besides,” he paused, eyes glittering from behind his frames as he studied her again. “I wouldn’t want to risking messing up our friendship.”

She sniffed to disguise the way that touched her.

“Bold of you to assume we’re friends. We hardly know each other.”

“I know you better than you think, my thorny Slytherin queen. And we are friends, so don’t be like that.”

“Fine,” she said. “I admit I find your company enjoyable in an...annoying sort of way.”

“Please,” Cash said, grinning. “You love it.”

“Don’t push it,” she warned, and he only grinned wider.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. So about next weekend: are you in? I’m trying to firm up the guest list for my friend Hélion.”

Nesta felt her cheeks warming as she admitted, “I...have to discuss it with Tomás. He’s been out of town.”

Cash looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he said, “Well if you do decide to come, I have only one request—“

“That I don’t bring my friend Claire,” Nesta finished for him, and he laughed. 

“She was in again last week and left me her number on a receipt. I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Call her?” Nesta made herself suggest.

Cash frowned.

“I told you: _not_ my type. Everything I said, she agreed with. I don’t want a woman who only ever tells me what she thinks I want to hear.”

Nesta couldn’t help herself.

“What do you want, then?”

Cash sank his teeth into his plush lower lip as if he were trying to suppress a smile before finally glancing at her.

“Someone who’s quick on the draw, and who isn’t afraid to dish it back. I don’t want a admirer; I want an equal. Besides,” he paused, biting his lip again. “I prefer brunettes.”

Nesta felt her heart beating in her throat as he studied her—her dark hair—before meeting her gaze again. 

“If you know anyone like _that_ , then...”

“I don’t,” Nesta said automatically before adding, “sorry.”

Cash continued watching her for a second before shrugging. 

“Being single isn’t all bad.”

“I wouldn’t really know,” Nesta admitted in a soft voice. “It’s been a while.”

Cash nodded, adjusting his frames as he looked down into his glass.

“How long have you two been together?”

“Six years.”

“That’s—a long time.”

“It is,” she agreed, wishing they could change the subject.

“No ring yet?”

Her eyes snapped up, he shook his head. 

“Sorry. None of my business.”

She thought about biting out that no, it most certainly wasn’t, before realizing she didn’t want to sour things with an unduly harsh retort. Instead she shrugged. 

“If he had his way, we’d be married already. I’m the one who’s insisted on waiting.”

“Why?”

She didn’t know why she answered. She knew she really shouldn’t, but somehow she couldn’t help herself. Cash was so easy to talk to, and the fact he didn’t know Tomás personally somehow made it feel like less of a violation of their privacy. 

“We’ve been through a lot together, but I don’t know—I’m not ready. I guess I’m just waiting for a sign to show me that I am.”

“Didn’t have you down as a person who believed in signs,” Cash admitted. 

Nesta fidgeted in her seat, looking down at her bare left hand. 

“I’m not usually. But this is...too important not to be completely sure.”

Cash nodded but didn’t push for clarification, even though she could tell he wanted to.

“I’m happy, though,” Nesta added, needing to hear herself say it out loud. “He makes me very happy.”

Cash gave her a smile that was warm, even if it didn’t quite touch his eyes.

“You deserve that,” he said. 

“How would you know?”

At this Cash’s smile widened to show pearly teeth. 

“Because I’m an excellent judge of character. Besides, doesn’t everyone deserve that? Someone who makes them happy?”

“You do,” she blurted, and her cheeks caught fire as she realized she’d said it out loud. 

She’d clearly drank more champagne than she’d thought; she was being embarrassingly loosed-lipped. Cash only smiled again, politely ignoring her insidious blush. 

“You think?”

“Per your logic, everyone does,” she pointed out, drumming her nails on the oak bar top. When he dimmed a bit, she softened. 

“But yes, I think you deserve it more than most.”

Cash gave a sheepish laugh as he looked down at the scuffed chukka boots her wore, and Nesta found herself adding, “She’s a lucky girl, Cash. The woman you end up with.”

It was truer than he even knew, and harder to bear than she’d expected. She had a sudden image of Cash in the arms of some unknown brunette beauty, and she felt her hands curling to fists. 

She was on dangerous ground, and she knew it. She couldn’t figure out for the life of her why she hadn’t retreated to safer territory yet. 

“I should get home,” she said, draining her glass. “Thank you for celebrating with me.”

He grinned. 

“Thank you for an excuse to drink champagne on a Tuesday. And before you embarrass us both by trying to pay for this bottle, let me make a proposition instead.”

Nesta huffed and made to protest, but he cut her off. 

“You know it’s nothing like that, so don’t get shirty with me. Just—come next Saturday. Tastings go much easier when there are people there who know what they’re looking for in a good wine, and I promised Leo I would give him something to work with. He’s French, so he gets fussy like that. And if you come, I can just put the bottle on his company’s tab. He works for one of the biggest distributors in France, so they won’t mind.”

“How long have you been cooking this scheme up?” She asked, and he grinned.

“Since about the word ‘celebrating’. Do we have a deal?”

He even extended a hand, and she bit her lip as she considered. 

“I still have to talk it over with Tomás. But yes, I will—tentatively be there.”

She slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed gently as his smile returned. 

“But you have to let me pay for the bottle if I don’t end up making it.”

Cash rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll add it to your tab, I promise.”

“Fair enough,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’ll will let you know on Tuesday when Tomás gets back into town.”

Cash laughed, though the sound was a bit hollow. 

“How? You don’t have my number.”

Nesta bit her lip, resisting the urge to shift on her feet. She and Tomás had given each other permission into their respective phones, and though it wasn’t a privilege he often exercised, she knew that if he did and saw Cash’s number, he’d freak. It would certainly be the end to their coming to the tasting. 

“I’ll—call the shop.”

All the playfulness melted from Cash’s expression as his mouth tightened. 

“Are you serious, Nes?”

“What does it matter?” She shot back, needing to go on the defensive. “You’re always here anyways.”

“That’s _not_ what concerns me.”

“I don’t know what you’re even talking about.”

He crossed his bruising arms across his chest, his tone brittle in a way that belied he usual ease. 

“Oh really? Then look me in the eye and tell me that—as your friend—I have nothing to be concerned about.”

“Goodbye, Cassian,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”

She turned to the door and heard him swear under his breath.

“Nesta.“

She tightened her grip on the leather strap of her handbag, fighting the urge to turn back to him as she left the shop.

* * *

“What’s going on with you?” Hélion asked from where he lounged on the sofa, watching as Cash straightened the collar of a fresh button-down in the mirror. 

They were currently in in the apartment above the shop, which Devlon had bought when such things were still possible to afford in North Beach. He’d agreed to let Cash stay there while he was in Hawaii, provided Cash didn’t change anything. 

So far, he’d had the place painted, replaced the dated backsplash in the kitchen, and bought a new couch. A contractor was coming the following week to talk about taking down a wall in the living room and gutting the master bath.

“What do you mean?” Cash said, shrugging into the burgundy blazer slung over a nearby armchair.

Hélion eyed him critically for another moment.

“That’s the third time you’ve changed your shirt.”

Hélion continued his brazen assessment before snapping his fingers in realization.

“There’s someone coming you want to impress. Who is it? Investor for your mythical vineyard?”

Cash cleared his throat.

“No, I’m—still working on that.”

Hélion smirked.

“ _Ah_ , okay. Who is she, then?”

Cash fought not to tense. This wasn’t a conversation he really wanted to have right now. Despite the voicemail he’d gotten from Nesta on Thursday at the shop informing him she’d be coming with two guests, he was terrified to get his hopes up knowing it was still entirely possible she wouldn’t show. 

“Who is who?” 

Hélion rolled his eyes.

“The woman you’re clearly trying to impress. And if you don’t tell me, know that I can get it out of Mor when she arrives.”

Cash felt his palms beginning to sweat. 

“It’s—not like that.”

Hélion smirked.

“No? Certainly seems like ‘that’ to me.”

“She’s got a serious boyfriend.” 

“A boyfriend isn’t a husband, Cashish,” Hélion said in a coo. “Besides, who could resist all this devilish charm?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Cash warned.

“Me?” Hélion said in mock offront. “Never! Come on, tell me more about her. She must be something if she’s caught your picky eye.”

“I’m not—“ Cash shook his head. “We’re just friends.”

“Non,” Hélion said. “You _like_ her. You’re smitten, I can tell. What’s her name?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“What? Why not? I only want to know who I need to charm tonight. I will help make her yours.”

“For fuck’s sake, Leo,” Cash said, unsure whether to be exasperated or warmed by his friend’s meddling. “She’s bringing her boyfriend.”

Hélion bubbled his lips and gave a dismissive flick of his wrist.

“I hate him already. He’s a swine! A wretch! Totally unworthy of her!”

“I actually think he might be,” Cash admitted, and at his tone Hélion straightened, setting down his glass.

“What do you mean?”

Cash blew out a breath, trying to keep his anger in check as he remembered the look on Nesta’s face when he’d suggested she take his number. Normally he might have taken it as a sign that she was more interested in him than she let on, but it hadn’t been guilt he’d seen in her eyes; it’d been fear.

“Allô!” Hélion said, snapping his fingers to get Cash’s attention again. “What does that mean?”

“He’s totally controlling; demanding to know where she is all the time, I think going through her phone—I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right to me.”

“Have you met him?”

“No,” Cash admitted. “But Dev has, and he said the same. He said that he’s very territorial over Nesta, and that I should keep my distance.”

“Nesta,” Hélion said with a satisfied smirk. “That’s very pretty.”

Cash flipped him a foul hand gesture before turning back to the mirror. He sighed before continuing.

“I don’t know what it is about her, but I can’t get her out of my head. And it would be bad enough knowing she’s got a boyfriend, but this prick—“ Cash shook his head. “I hate thinking of her in a bad relationship.”

“Maybe she just needs someone to show her there’s a better way,” Hélion said, and Cash huffed.

“Don’t tease me. This sucks enough as-is.”

“Non,” Hélion said. “No teasing. She clearly likes you, Cash, or else she wouldn’t be coming tonight.”

“She’s coming with _him_.”

“Then she must like you very much, to risk upsetting him just to see you.”

“I don’t want to put her in a bad spot.”

“But...?” Hélion prompted.

“But what?”

“But you _do_ want her.”

Cash groaned, slumping down on the arm of the sofa.

“How could I not? She’s brilliant, and thoughtful, and witty. And God—so fucking gorgeous. She might honestly be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Hélion gave an amused snort.

“The man’s in love.”

“I’m not in love,” Cash protested before pausing. “And it doesn’t matter, anyway. She’s got her sod of a boyfriend, and I just got her to admit we’re friends; I can’t mess things up.”

“Okay,” Hélion said, holding up his hands in submission. “I won’t say anything to her.”

Cash let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Thank you.”

“But say the word, and I will seduce the boyfriend and clear the path for you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Cash muttered, and Hélion smirked.

“So far as I know, you’re the only man who’s been able to successfully to resist me, straight or otherwise.”

“Az,” Cash pointed out, turning to the mirror to pull his hair back. 

Hélion rolled his eyes.

“He’s just being obstinate to spite me.”

“I’ll let him know you’re onto him.”

Hélion smirked and settled back into his seat. 

“Can you imagine what he must look like naked?”

“As his friend, I try not to. Shall we?”

Hélion rose, straightening his immaculate heather gray slacks as he did. Cash shook his head.

“I don’t know how you’re wearing that sweater. It’s bloody August.”

Hélion straightened the collar of the turtleneck self-importantly. 

“I’m French,” Hélion sniffed. “The laws of nature don’t apply to me.”

“That’s not at all how that works,” Cash pointed out. “But suit yourself.”

They descended the stairs to find the servers Cash had hired readying the place at Mor’s direction. The dining table had been set with the appropriate glasses, and flutes were arranged neatly on trays, waiting for champagne. 

“Looks good,” Cash told her in greeting, coming over to kiss her cheek. “Almost good enough to justify flying you all the way out here from London.”

“Please,” Mor said, batting his cheek. “I flew myself out here, you ungrateful plant pot.” She spotted Hélion and shoved Cash back. “Leo, there you are! Come give me a kiss.”

Cash only barely managed to get out of the way as Hélion slid a hand around Mor’s waist and pulled her to him. She draped her arms over his shoulders and pecked him on the lips. Cash only barely managed to fend off a groan of disgust, and Mor only flashed him a quick hand gesture before her eyes settled back into Hélion, who still had a possessive hand pressed to her low back.

“How are you, mon cœur?” She purred, and Hélion gave her an appreciative up-down.

“Better, now you’re here. Oh, and Cash has a woman coming tonight.”

Cash snarled.

“What part of ‘be cool’ did you not understand?”

“You are?” Mor demanded, turning to punch him in the arm. “Who?”

“She’s got a boyfriend,” Cash said, feeling sour for having to repeat it out loud. 

“So? Never seen a defender you couldn’t score on. What’s her name?”

“None of your—“

“Nesta.”

Cash screwed his eyes up, rubbing his temple. 

“Leo, for fuck’s sake.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mor asked. “This is so exciting! I haven’t seen you interested in someone in—“ she paused to think. “I honestly can’t remember the last time.”

“She’s got a serious boyfriend,” Cash said, annoyed at having to repeat himself. “And she’s my friend, so please don’t scare her off with your meddling.”

Mor toss her blonde waves off her shoulder. 

“I don’t meddle.”

Cash pursed his lips. 

“Tell that to Az’s love life.”

“That’s different. Without my help, poor lamb’s going to die alone.”

“I can think of someone I know who could make him feel _properly_ loved up,” Hélion said with a smirk, and Cash rolled his eyes. 

“Leave him alone, both of you. Leo, if you want someone to flirt with, go back to London and bother Rhys. He’ll be more than happy to oblige you.”

“Tempting,” Hélion admitted. “But he’ll flirt with anyone. Besides, there’s just something about that pouty mouth of Azriel’s that drives me _crazy_.”

“Let’s just get the champagne opened,” Cash said, not wanting to discuss his friends’ love lives anymore. 

He gestured to the servers, and Hélion glanced at the label of the nearest bottle and frowned.

“Bollinger? I thought we’d agreed on Moët.”

Cash shrugged. 

“I changed my mind.”

Hélion narrowed his eyes. 

“Fine,” Hélion sniffed. “But no more changes. I made these selections for a reason.”

Cash grinned. 

“You’re afraid I’ll pull something something you don’t know, you mean.”

Hélion gave him a dirty look, and Cash laughed. 

“I haven’t changed anything else,” he promised. 

At this the door chimed, and Cash’s heart rate picked up. Forcing himself not the react in a way his friends might notice, he nodded towards the door. 

“Go, minions. Be charming, make people feel welcome.” He grabbed Hélion by the elbow as he made to strut off. 

“Not too friendly. This is an elegant tasting, not a live sex show.”

Helion grinned, teeth bright against his dark skin. 

“Afraid I’ll meet your Nesta and win her away from you?”

“No, because you lay even one line on her and she’s probably punch your lights out. Get out of here.”

Hélion laughed, clapping Cash in the shoulder even as his eye snagged on fetching red head who was already smiling at him. 

Cash found as people trickled in that he was too wound up to mingle, so he busied himself in the back instead, helping pull bottles and making sure the hor d’euorvers looked the way he wanted. 

When his phone buzzed, he pulled it out to find a text from Hélion.

_Come to the front._

Swearing under his breath, Cash did as a instructed to find Hélion waiting for him at the bar. 

“What is it?”

Hélion shrugged. 

“Nothing. But you need to be out here. It’s strange for your to lurk in the back like the hunchback in his tower. Have a glass of champagne and relax.”

“I am relaxed.”

“That’s exactly what a tense person would say,” Hélion said. “Go talk to people.”

“I will as soon as—“

He broke off as he watched Hélion eyes skate over his shoulder and light up. 

“What?” he demanded.

Helion smiled, eyes flicking back to Cash. 

“I think your Nesta just walked in.”

Cash’s throat went dry. His first instinct was to whip around, and he forced himself to relax his posture. 

“Merde, you weren’t joking,” Hélion said, gaze going over Cash’s shoulder. “She’s—fetching. Who’s the woman with her?”

“Her younger sister, I think.”

Hélion’s grin grew sleepy and slightly wicked, and Cash shook his head.

“Nesta will flay you alive.”

Hélion only shrugged before looking back and cocking his head slightly. 

“C'est intéressant...” he mused, tapping his fingers against his lips in mock bemusement. 

Cash grit his teeth. 

“What’s interesting?” 

Hélion’s smile was a feral thing, one that reminded Cash of a fox.

“I don’t see a gentleman with her,” Hélion finished. 

Unable to resist any longer, Cash turned, his pulse drumming a lulling beat in his belly as he drank Nesta in. 

She was dressed more provocatively then he’d ever seen her, and it made his mouth dry as he took her in. The slinky navy cocktail dress she wore hung off her body as if it had been made for her, highlighting her gorgeous small breasts and lean legs. 

She’s yet to see him, but his heart sped up as the woman next to her, who was undoubtedly Elain, turned her head in his direction. Elain gave him a delightfully unsubtle up-down before she leaned over to whisper in her sister’s ear.

Something warm began to pool in Cash stomach as Nesta’s gaze snapped to him and she flushed. 

He smiled in greeting, feeling pleased when she took Elain’s hand and started towards him.

“Go away,” Cash hissed to Hélion. 

“But—“

“I’ll introduce you later. Buzz off.”

Hélion huffed before retreating, and Cash fought not to fidget or look too eager as Nesta approached. She dark hair fell in a satiny curtain down her back, and he imagined bunching it is hands as he kissed her neck, peeling off that dress so he could...

“Cash, hi.”

He flashed what he hoped as an easy smile. He wanted to kiss her cheek the way he might have with someone like Mor, but given everything, he doubted she’d appreciate it. 

“Nesta,” he said, taking in the hint of her cool, sharp perfume as she came closer. “Glad you could make it.” 

She smiled, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. He admired the elegant line of her wrist as she did, marveling that wrists could even be attractive. Hers were, though. They were gorgeous. 

“Thank you for inviting us.”

At this she put a hand on her sister’s back. 

“This is my sister, Elain. Ellie, this is my friend Cassian.”

Hearing her said the word “friend” had giddy delight crashing through him, and he forced himself to look at Elain instead. 

She gave him a bright, easy smile, and he immediately liked her. 

“Lovely to finally meet you, Cassian,” she said as they shook hands

“Cash, please. Honestly, I feel like I know you already. Nesta’s always bragging about you.”

Elain gave a sheepish laugh, doe brown eyes sparkling. Like her sister, Elain was beautiful, though hers was a much softer, more angelic thing: the fresh-faced Disney heroine to Nesta sultry villainess. She was of a curvier build as well, her figure voluptuous where Nesta’s was willowy. 

If Az was here, he’d be drooling all over the floor. He was a sucker for big tits and brown eyes, even if he was too much of a gentleman to ever admit as much out loud. 

“Well that’s embarrassing,” Elain said. “It’s not like I’m going to cure cancer or something.”

“No it’s not,” Nesta said. “You deserve it. You’re brilliant, El.”

Elain blushed before turning back to Cash. 

“I’ve heard a lot of nice things about you, too.” Elain continued. “It’s good to put a name to the face.”

Cash grinned at Nesta, whose mouth has pinched into a pert frown. 

“You been bragging about me too, Archeron?”

Nesta sniffed in a way Cash now knew signified she’d been caught off balance. 

“Hardly. It’s Claire who can’t shut up about you.”

Elain gave a delicate laugh. 

“It’s true,” she admitted. “I think she’s got a crush on you. She still hasn’t stopped talking about that red Nesta served at her dinner party. No one could; did Nes tell you?”

Cash laughed when Nesta rolled her eyes. 

“Your sister isn’t in the habit of giving me compliments, unfortunately. But thank you, it’s nice to know you liked it.”

“I loved it,”Elain corrected. “You should come to the next party and listen to everyone fawn yourself.”

Cash glanced to Nesta to gauge her reaction, afraid to find her expression disapproving. She wore a sardonic smile instead. 

“Before you say yes, please keep in mind that Claire will be there, and there won’t be a bar or a stock room to shield you from her attentions.”

Cash grinned. 

“You’re not going to protect my virtue?”

Nesta pursed her lips to hide a smirk. 

“As if there’s any left to protect.”

“I will,” Elain assured him, grinning as she touched his arm. “We’ve known Claire for ages, but she can get a little—predatory.”

“Yes, a scrawny thing like you, who knows what she might do if she caught you alone,” Nesta added dryly. 

Cash laughed, and unable to resist showing off a little, he crossed his arms across his chest and said, “Archeron, I’m pretty sure I could bench your weight about five times over.”

“Doubtful,” Nesta shot back, eyes glittering with the challenge. “I weigh over 300 pounds.”

“What a coincidence; I bench 1,500.”

“Well congratulations on setting a world record, then. The last I heard, it was 1,075.”

Elain watched them, a grin on her face before she cut in, “Will you excuse me? I have to use the restroom.”

“I’ll come with you,” Nesta said immediately, and Elain gave her a hard look. 

“Don’t need any help, thanks.” She brushed a friendly hand down Cash’s arm. “Nice to meet you again.”

With that she slipped away, leaving them alone. 

“She’s cute,” Cash said when she’d gone. 

Nesta smiled, eyes softening in a way they only ever did for her sisters. 

“Isn’t she?” 

They watched in silence as Elain sauntered off before Nesta turned to give him a thorough once-over.

“You look—nice.”

Cash laughed, basking under her careful attention as her eyes swept from his blazer to his caramel dress shoes.

“Do I not usually?”

She flushed before pursing her lips.

“The joggers certainly gave me pause.”

He grinned, wanting to see if he could make her blush again. 

“I try to avoid them in mixed company. It’s unfair to the women present. Too distracting.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“I managed them just fine.”

“Or so you claim. But you easily could have been checking me out when my back was turned.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“Get over yourself. Your ass is not as cute as you clearly think it is.”

He flashed her a smirk, seeing the opportunity her comment presented and finding himself unable to resist. 

“And how would you know?”

She flushed, and he felt his belly tighten, even as he grinned.

“Gotcha.”

She rolled her eyes again but didn’t offer a retort, and the realization she had been checking him left him feeling giddy. That was, until he remembered who’d she was supposed to have with her that evening. 

“So,” he said. “No Tomás?”

He tried to keep the hopefulness from his tone, unsure if he’d succeeded as Nesta straightened.

“He’s running late. But he’ll be here, don’t worry.”

Cash felt his heart sink.

“I can’t say that I was,” he admitted quietly. 

“Was what?” She said, tone flatter than before. 

“Worried he’d be here.”

He hated the way her face pinched at that, the light in hey eyes dimming. 

“Don’t start, Cash.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Her expression darkened. 

“You didn’t have to. Please, promise me you’ll play nice. I think you two might really hit it off.”

Cash knew he would never like this prick and that the feeling was certain to be mutual, but afraid of pushing her away, he only smiled. 

“I’m sure we will. You look lovely, by the way.”

Nesta looked down under the guise of smoothing her skirt, but he suspected it was really to hide another blush. God, she was killing him tonight. He wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt. 

“Thank you,” she said finally. “It’s new. I don’t usually like this color, but—“

“It suits you,” he said, and though he wanted to push the issue, he knew he’d gone as far as he’d dared.

Reaching behind her, he grabbed a forgotten tray of champagne, passing her a flute and taking one for himself.

They were silent a moment as they both took a sip, and Nesta nodded in approval.

“Bollinger,” she said. “Should I be flattered?”

He shrugged, sure she was seeing through him.

“I’d forgotten just how good it was until you reminded me. I figured I’d help remind everyone else, too.”

“Good,” she said with a small smile. “I would hate to think you were just trying to impress me again; you know I’m immune to your charm.”

“But you _do_ admit I’m charming,” he said with a grin. “I’ll take it.”

She considered this, eyes sparkling.

“I admit nothing,” she sniffed, taking another sip.

He laughed.

“Of course you don’t. It’s fine, my ego can take it.”

She snorted.

“That I don’t doubt.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence as Nesta turned to survey the room. Cash watched her in profile, admiring the narrow bridge of her nose and the dusting of freckles she’d clearly tried to conceal under her makeup. She was so lovely it made his chest ache.

Knowing he had to stop staring before she caught him, Cash turned to watch the crowd milling around instead.

“So no Graysen either, huh? I’m oddly disappointed.”

Nesta huffed. 

“Elain was going to bring him, but they got in a tiff earlier and now they aren’t speaking.”

“Why don’t you seem happier about that?”

“Because this happens all the time. I can’t emotionally invest in the hope they’re actually break up; the disappointment is too bitter. Please just tell me there’s someone here to distract her. What about your friend Azriel? Vanity Fair seems to think he’s single.”

Cash laughed.

“Az is still in LA; he generally avoids mingling with strangers, even for my sake. And my friend Leo was practically foaming at the mouth when she walked in, but I don’t think he’s the kind of guy you want dating your baby sister. He’s something of a...philanderer.”

“I’m not concerned,” Nesta said. “One thing I will say for Elain: she’s not easily wooed. I think she honestly gets hit on so much it doesn’t phase her anymore. Besides, she’s annoyingly loyal to Graysen. Tell your friend to do his worst; he’s not going to win her over.”

“Why do I get the sense that pleases you?”

She flashed him her Disney Villainess smirk again, and he felt his skin prickle in arousal.

“Because it makes me feel like I raised her right; weird blind spot for Graysen aside, Elain knows who she is, and doesn’t let others try and tell her different—especially men.”

“What about Feyre?”

Nesta expression grew more devilish. 

“Fey’s more like me. She didn’t need to be taught how to shred men to ribbons. It’s instinct for her, and she’s damn good at it.” Nesta pursed her lips. “I just wish she’d use it a bit more often.”

“She’ll get tired of kissing frogs eventually,” Cash offered. “You remember what it was like at 19.”

“I didn’t date _until_ I was 19.”

Cash smiled.

“What was your first boyfriend like? I’m imagining either a geeky engineering major or an uptight Shakespeare nerd.”

“Neither,” she said, taking another sip of champagne. “He was a gorgeous Portuguese exchange student.” 

He chuckled, even if some of his amusement had soured.

“You really have a type, don’t you?”

When she gave him a pointed look, he felt his heart sink. 

“Tomás was your first boyfriend?”

It explained a lot. The blind loyalty, the way she seemed to capitulate to him when she didn’t for others. 

“Some people are just lucky, I guess.”

“In what way?”

She shrugged.

“To get it right on the first try.”

It hurt—physically _hurt_ —to hear her say it, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting something petulant. Instead he forced himself to shrug.

“I guess I wouldn’t know. My first girlfriend’s name was Becky, and she was the actual worst.”

“The fact she chose to go by Becky didn’t tip you off?”

“Looking back, it was the first of many warning signs.”

Nesta laughed, and Cash felt some of his bitterness fading. They were friends, he reminded himself. She’d claimed him as her friend, and as far as he was concerned, that made him the luckiest guy in the world. Her relationship with Tomás wasn’t any of his business. If she was happy, he’d be happy for her. 

Over Nesta’s shoulder, Cash spotted Hélion trying to get his attention by tapping his watch.

“I should probably start getting people settled,” he said. “Do you want us to wait for Tomás?”

Nesta bit her lip. He knew she hated when people did her favors, and he suspected she was embarrassed that it was her boyfriend holding things up. 

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. “I’m sure he’ll be here soo—“

The doorbell chimed, and Cash didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He fought down a searing stab of annoyance as Nesta raised her hand in greeting, choosing to glance at his own watch instead. 

“Querida,” a smooth voice called. “There you are.”

Cash thought about trying to use the opportunity to make his escape, but he knew Nesta would see that for the cowardice it was and be annoyed he wasn’t playing nice like he’d promised. 

Instead he turned, watching the well-dressed man making his way towards them. He was of rather average height and build, Cash noticed with satisfaction, though his face was classically handsome. Between the way his dark hair was pomaded away from his face and the fact he wore no socks in his Armani loafers—despite being dressed in slacks and a blazer—Cash thought he probably worked at a hedge fund. 

Of course he did, the little prick. 

The minute he was close enough, Tomás caught Nesta by the elbow and hugged her into him for a wanton kiss. 

Cash bristled at seeing Nesta stiffen, clearly embarrassed. She should be, he thought sourly. It was like the beginning of a bad porno. 

After a second Nesta pulled away, flushing a little as she dabbed at her lips. Tomás kept a proprietary hand on her low back. 

“Where’s your phone?” Tomás said in Portuguese, ignoring Cash entirely. “I called you twice.”

“It’s on silent,” Nesta said. “I’m sorry.”

Tomás pursed his lips in unveiled irritation before finally seeming to take note they weren’t alone. Cash felt a grim satisfaction when Tomás had to tilt his chin up to meet Cash’s eye. 

“Tomás, this is Cassian. He owns the shop.”

Not friends anymore, Cash noted with disappointment. Acquaintances, if best. The fact she wasn’t willing to admit to any degree of familiarity in front of Tomás was monstrously telling, and it made him hate the asshole even more.

Tomás tossed a casual glance in Cash’s direction, and though his smile was placid, his gaze was cold. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said, shifting Nesta in his arms so he could extend a hand. 

Cash could tell she was uncomfortable that he hadn’t released her, and he fought the urge to break Tomás’s fingers as they shook hands.

“I suppose I have you to thank for all the exquisite wine I’ve been drinking lately,” Tomás said, smiling down at Nesta before letting his eyes drift back to Cash. 

Cash shrugged. If Nesta wanted or needed to downplay their interaction for the sake of her relationship then he’d oblige her. 

“I guess. Though Nesta’s got great taste on her own. She doesn’t need my help.”

“She doesn’t need anyone’s help. Right, querida?”

Nesta’s laugh was tinny and hollow as she finally extricated herself from Tomas’s grip until the pretense of looking around. 

“I’m going to go find Elain,” she said, leaning over to peck Tomás again. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Tomás said, and Cash wanted to punch him for the tone he used, as if he were granting her permission. “Come right back.”

Nesta nodded her agreement and headed off, and though Cash expected Tomás to follow, he stayed, flashing a much cooler look as he took Nesta’s abandoned glass from the bar. 

He raised it, and when Cash raised his, Tomás said in Portuguese, his tone light as if he were making an actual toast, “I don’t like you.”

Fucking coward. 

Cash only flashed a grim smile, clinking his glass to Tomás’s and replying in English, “I don’t really give a shit.”

Tomás’s oily, self-satisfied smirk curled into a sneer, and Cash found himself bracing his feet a little farther apart on the floor. He guessed they were really doing this, then.

“Stay away from Nesta,” Tomás spit out. “She’s none of your concern.”

“And she’s not _your_ property,” Cash shot back. “So why don’t you try treating her with a little respect?”

“Fuck you.”

Cash let out a bitter laugh. 

“Did I strike a nerve?”

“Stay out of our business, _bugre_.”

Cash took a step in Tomás’s direction, teeth bared. 

“What did you just call me?”

It was a slur Cash hadn’t heard since he’d left Brazil, but it wasn’t one he could ever forget. It had gotten him into more than one fight growing up, and even now, it still made some part of him burn. 

Tomás had the good sense to take a step back, even as he bared his own teeth. 

“Stay away from Nesta,” he said again. “Or I will make you very sorry.”

Cash snarled.

“First you insult me, and now you’re threatening me? Tread lightly, _caralho_. You don’t want to fuck with me.”

“What’s going on?”

Both men looked up to see Nesta approaching, brows drawn. 

“We’re leaving,” Tomás said, reaching for her hand. “Let’s go.”

“Leave? You just got here.” 

Nesta spared Cash the briefest glance as Tomás tried to pull her along behind him.

“I have a headache,” Tomás said curtly. “Get your things.” 

“I have Elain with me—“

“Give her your keys; she can bring your car home.”

People had begun looking now, and Nesta tugged her hand from Tomás’s, flushing.

“You’re embarrassing me,” she said quietly.

“I have a headache,” he said more forcefully. “Are you expecting me sit here and suffer?”

“No, but—“

“Good, then let’s go.”

Unable to stand by any longer, Cash intervened. 

“Nesta—“

“Stay out of this,” Tomás snarled. He turned to Nesta. “Let’s go. Now, please.”

Nesta looked rather helplessly towards Elain, who was trying to make her way over to them. 

“I need to—“ she gestured to her sister, and Tomás mouth tightened. 

“Do what you need to and let’s go. I’ll be waiting in the car. Two minutes, querida.”

With a final sour look he stormed off, slamming the door as he left. 

“Prick,” Cash muttered, and Nesta whirled on him. 

He expected her to snap at him, but instead she pursed her lips, looking down at her feet for a moment before glancing back up at him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said tightly, and he realized what he’d been interpreting as annoyance was actually her attempting not to cry. “I have to go.”

“No,” Cash said, touching her chin gently to win her gaze back from the floor. “You don’t.”

She brushed him off immediately. 

“Yes, I do. Have a nice evening, and please make sure my sister gets home safe.”

“Nesta—“

By now Elain has arrived beside them, and Nesta pulled out her keys and stuffed them into her sister’s hand. 

“Don’t drive if you feel like you’ve had to much to drink. I can come get the car tomorrow if need be.”

“I’ll come with you,” Elain offered, but Nesta was already shaking her head. 

“No, you stay. Tomás just isn’t feeling well, so I’m going to take him home.”

“For fuck’s said, Nes. You don’t have to do this!”

Nesta flashed Cash a searing look. 

“Please don’t make this worse. Ellie, I’ll see you back at the house. Have a good time.”

She brushed a hurried kiss to Elain’s cheek, and before Cash could protest again, she was striding for the door. 

“I’m sorry,” he called, and she only raised a hand in salutation before disappearing. 

“It’s not your fault,” Elain said from his side. Her voice was quiet but bitter. “It’s always like this. I’m going to try and smooth things over. He’s—less harsh when I’m there.”

Cash could hear his heart beating in his ears, every instinct roaring at him to go to the parking lot and beat Tomás bloody. Nesta might hate him for it, but at least then he’d know she’d be safe.

“Is she going to be alright with him?” He asked Elain, and she pursed her lips. 

She knew what he was asking, and she nodded. 

“I’ll make sure she is.”

“Will you call me?” He asked, knowing he sounded desperate and not caring. “And let me know everything’s—okay?”

She nodded, handing her his phone so he could enter his number. When he handed it back, she gave her another soft smile, this one edged in a sadness and regret and broke his heart. 

“It really was nice meeting you, Cassian. I hope I—see you again sometime. ” 

She patted his arm before she too was leaving. 

He swore until his breath when they’d both gone, furious and terrified in equal measure. Furious at Tomás for the slur, and for dragging Nesta out like a rag doll, and terrified that despite Elain’s reassurance, something bad might happen to her because of him. 

More selfishly than that, he was terrified that he’d never see her again. She’d been lying to Tomás about coming to the Merchant before he even knew Cash existed. Now he’d be watching her even more closely. The thought made him sick, as did his powerlessness to help her. 

“What the hell was that?”

Cash turned to find Mor behind him, brows drawn. Hélion, he noted gratefully, had corralled the other attendees and was beginning a speech about the history of the Bollinger and it’s flavor profile. 

“Her boyfriend is an abusive prick,” Cash grit out. “And I just lost my cool.”

“Why didn’t you go after her?”

“And make things worse? I’m sure sure she hates me enough already.”

“Are you worried about her? Maybe you should call Ro, have him send over some unis for a wellness check?”

“I thought about it, but her sister said she’d call me. If I don’t hear from her in the next fifteen minutes, I will.”

His and Nesta’s friendship, he feared, was already destroyed. The least he could do now was make sure she’s alright.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Mor breathed, lacing her fingers through his and resting her head on his shoulder. “I can tell you really like her. If it helps, she likes you, too. That’s why her boyfriend hated you so much.”

“It doesn’t. And I don’t think it matters, anyway. I doubt she’ll be back after that.”

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out. 

_Hi, it’s Elain Archeron. I just got to Nesta’s, and Tomás is gone already. Guess his “headache” worse than we thought._

Cash let out a breath. 

_I’m glad. Please tell her—_

He paused. Tell her what? That despite the fact he hardly knew her, he couldn’t stop thinking about her? That hearing her laugh was like hearing the voice of God, and seeing her with Tomás had been like a knife to the gut?

He backspaced before trying again.

_Thanks for letting me know. xx_

Elain’s response came at once.

_Thank you for caring about her. She deserves that. ❤️_

Cash blew out a breath as he read it, something tightening in his chest.

“How can I help?” Mor asked.

Cash straightened his blazer, forcing a broad smile as Hélion introduced him and he waved.

“Scout the talent,” he said, scanning the bevy of beautiful, eligble woman who were now smiling in his direction. “I need someone to make me forget, at least for tonight.”

“Forget what? Her, or the fight?”

Cash sighed.

“All of it.”

## as-fast-as-you-caan @donnarosemary [@my-fan-side](https://tmblr.co/mQsbgUpkMT5W9i77q0_9C3Q) [@kingdomofbrokenhearts](https://tmblr.co/mGHKXEHXrfakUZCsBK1Da2A) [@dayanna-hatter](https://tmblr.co/mY3M4owiPJQwcJ3HQZQ6TXg) [@verifiefangirl](https://tmblr.co/mUY9f3fhZt88qTNoU1G9ojw) [@mariamuses](https://tmblr.co/mOx-lGm4sLlOzd8az3TZPmA) [@blxckbeak](https://tmblr.co/m1YJ-qI-f0YTlAvQ5xgxu4w) [@goldbooksblack](https://tmblr.co/mT9EnK6wp5yGvw9gFiM9tIg) [@skychild29](https://tmblr.co/mx4zDM2S8CQv7Vi6SqFDKdw) @marry28sstuff [@starlightheir](https://tmblr.co/m6OWCnZFnTvjhIrU4b1I0FA) [@light-in-the-shadows72](https://tmblr.co/m3VZ66YnXEbQ1hR0JC3pMEw) [@rhysanoodle](https://tmblr.co/mnInCN3DjGlTW9PsQX_GXpg) [@pilesofriles](https://tmblr.co/mSCp7BICudCEgHBHfYj_Ctw) [@awesomethreedragons](https://tmblr.co/mNL-cicKDJmcN-CKePPA-dw) [@a-novel-blog](https://tmblr.co/mYphgg-ahm-QVXzoVcVLQBg) @thevodkaaunt [@booksapphic](https://tmblr.co/m-X5MYk7YV-IIU9qGSdqNKw)


	4. Rousillon

##  _**TRIGGER WARNING** : Please be advised that this chapter contains graphic depictions of domestic abuse. _

* * *

##  **Chapter Four: Roussillon**

It had been three weeks, and Nesta was still mortified about what happened with Tomás at the wine tasting. She’d wanted to go in the next day to apologize, but she knew it would only make things with Tomás worse, and at the end of the day he was her boyfriend, not Cash; after the way he’d helped her financially support her sisters when they were in high school, she owed him her loyalty.

That being said, she still found herself counting the day until his next work trip when she could go back to the shop and set things with Cash straight. At the very least, she could pay him for the bottle of Bollinger. Since she’d only been there twenty minutes, she didn’t consider her part of bargain fulfilled.

At least, that’s what she told herself when she parked in front of the shop: that she didn’t like owing people, and she needed to settle up with Cash.

The truth was admittedly a bit more complicated. She didn’t allow herself to dig into just what that truth might be, beyond acknowledging that despite Tomás’s objections, Cash was her friend and she didn’t want to lose him.

She took a breath breath before checking to ensure the her cell phone—which she’d conveniently left at the townhouse—was still ringing through to her work cell in her purse. Things with Tomás had been...better since their fight after the tasting, but Nesta wasn’t so naive as to think it was over. If Tomás did happen to check up on her, easier for him to think she were at home. Part of her knew that lying to Tomás was not tenable as a long-term solution to the problem, but for the time being it was all she had.

Giving her hair a quick comb-through with her fingers, she let out a steadying breath before exiting the car and entering the shop. The old bell greeted her as always, but she could barely hear it above the pounding in her ears as she and Cash made eye contact.

She’d missed him, she realized with a jolt. She hadn’t been able to say what it was that had been putting her so on edge the last few weeks, but this was it: she’d been missing Cash. Their conversations, his irreverent humor, that _smile_ —she’d missed all of it.

And that terrified her.

Cash didn’t say anything as he took her in, eyes sweeping over her in a careful assessment that had her immediately bristling. However, she felt herself relax when he flashed a soft smile.

“Nes,” he said, grin widening a little. “You’re back.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” she said in answer, willing her cheeks not to heat at his hopeful tone. “You’re acting like I’ve just come how from war. It’s only been three weeks.”

He raised his eyebrows, some of the familiar spark lighting his eyes.

“Been counting the days, sweetheart?”

She stiffened a bit at this, the endearment a reminder of the tightrope she was walking in coming to the Merchant at all. She knew Cash had noticed, and though the tightening around his mouth said he wanted to comment, he simply jerked his head at the bar stool instead.

“You look like you could use a drink. What are you having today?”

Nesta bit her lip, knowing despite the precautions she’d taken that it was risky to stay. She ought to just give him the check for the Bollinger and leave.

“Oh no, I know that look,” he said, holding up a hand to ward her off. “If you came to pay for the Bollinger, please don’t. I sold out both cases I had at the tasting, and the new shipment isn’t coming in for a few weeks. It would be a headache to try and ring you up for it now.”

She narrowed her eyes in scrutiny, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. He laughed, though it was somewhat hollow.

“You’ll just throw off my inventory if you buy a bottle I no longer have. Or are you trying to bring the IRS down on me?”

She relented with a huff of amusement.

“I don’t think the IRS cares about one misplaced bottle of wine,” she said.

He grinned when she set her bag down and settled into the stool.

“You can never be too careful. Red or white?”

Nesta drummed her nails on the bar top, trying to wrestle back into the easy rhythm they’d had before the disaster with Tomás at the tasting.

“Sometimes it feels like you just say things like that to upset me,” she said.

Nesta forced herself not to notice the delicious stretch of Cash’s white Henley as he crossed his arms and chuckled.

“For everything there is a season, Archeron. There are some whites I know you’d like if you gave them a chance.”

Nesta only pursed his lips, and he relented with a laugh.

“Battle for another day, then. Alright, what do you want instead? I’m feeling generous, so I’ll even get you a glass of that oaky California swill you seem to like.”

“It’s not swill!” She said, unable to entirely hold back her laugh.

Cash leaned against the bar, amusement fading slightly.

“A palette as beautiful as yours deserves better.”

Nesta feel heat creep into her cheeks; she was fairly sure they weren’t talking about wine anymore. She knew she’d be better served letting the comment slide, but she couldn’t help herself—it wasn’t in her to back down from a challenge.

“California wine is better than you give it credit for. You won’t ever even give it a chance.”

Cash didn’t back down.

“I think I’ve had enough to know exactly what I don’t like about it. It’s shitty and predictable, and it can destroy your palette if you drink too much of it.”

“Cash,” Nesta warned. “Knock it off or I’m leaving.”

His chest heaved as he considered. _Please_ , she found herself silently begging. _Don’t try and control me, too_. He seemed to read the plea in her eyes because he relented, glancing down at his boots to master himself.

“Alright, how about something unusual? Hélion brought a case of this stuff while he was here and I can’t stop drinking about it.”

She forced out a laugh even though she was still feeling slightly on edge.

“Cute.”

“I take my puns where I can get them and I won’t apologize for it. You in?”

“Let me guess: it’s from France.”

“Yes, you little New World snob, it’s from France. But I guarantee it’s not like anything you’ve had before.”

“I would like my skepticism noted for the court,” she said, and he laughed, hazel eyes glittering.

“Ah, the sweet dirge of Nesta Archeron’s cynicism,” he said. “How I’ve missed that sound.”

She had no idea what possessed her, but she found herself quietly admitting, “I missed you, too.”

Some of the bravado slipped from his face, the serious expression making him look more handsome than ever. They stared at each other for a long moment, and she hoped he wouldn’t say anything that couldn’t be taken back. Instead he only gave a small smile.

“It’s good to see you, Nes,” he said softly, reaching across the bar to squeeze her hand gently.

She squeezed back on instinct.

God, what would Tomás say if he were here? The idea was enough to form a greasy knot of dread in her stomach. However, Cash was letting go before she could begin any sort of formal self flagellation for the contact, and she forced herself to move on.

“Are we ever going to drink this mystery wine of yours, or is this a diversion while you try and find something that will be suitably impressive?”

“As he majesty commands,” he said, affecting a deep bow. “Your ambrosia awaits, my lady.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’re a clown.”

“We prefer the term ‘court jester’,” he said with a sniff. “Clown is considered derogatory.”

“Shut up and go fetch my wine, peasant,” she said, lobbing a cork that had been lying on the counter at him.

He dodged it with a laugh before disappearing into the back. She checked her phone when while he was gone and was relieved to see Tomás hadn’t texted or called her. She ensured she’d be able to hear it if he did before sliding her phone back into her purse.

Cash appeared then, holding up the bottle so she could inspect the label.

“So,” he began. “Ever had anything from the Roussillon region?”

“I’ve never even heard of it,” she admitted.

“Not many people have,” he said, and she tried not to get flustered as he ran his hands down his front pockets of his jeans, the action pulling them more snugly against his toned legs, among... _other_ things.

“What are you doing?” She demanded, and he glanced up in surprise, smoothing his hands down his back pockets now.

“Looking for my wine key?”

He must have noticed the heat in her cheeks, because his expression grew sleepy and slightly wicked.

“Why? Is me touching myself getting you hot and bothered?”

She forced as much chill into her retort as she could muster, though it was admittedly not nearly as much as normal.

“I told you before: it takes a lot more than that to get me riled up.”

He chuckled.

“I wish you wouldn’t always said that like it’s a challenge; it just makes me want to prove you wrong.”

He gave a look of theatric appraisal before biting his lip. She leaned over the bar to punch his arm.

“I take it back; you can’t date Elain after all.”

He laughed, and she forced herself not to even notice how perfectly straight his teeth were.

“That’s fine,” he said with a shrug, finally finding his beautifully-crafted wine key and holding it aloft. “I think you were right at the tasting: we should set her and Az up.”

“What makes you think he’d be good for her?”

Cash began to tick off on his fingers.

“He’s ridiculously quiet, he loves doing favors for people, and he’s got black hair; by your own standards, that makes him perfect for her. Also, he’s probably object to both of these designations, but he’s handsome and rich. I don’t think even you could object to him.”

“In that case, tell him to go to Palo Alto and sweep her off her feet.”

Cash gave a mock wince as he opened the bottle with expert ease.

“Yeah, the ‘wooing’ bit could be a problem. Az is more the ‘pine after in silence’ type. Don’t suppose Elain could court him instead?”

Nesta snorted a laugh as Cash fetched two glasses and poured them both a measure of wine.

“I don’t think she knows how, honestly. Eight different guys asked her to prom her freshman year of high school. She’s never had to pursue a person in her life. Mostly she just has to work on weeding out the unworthy ones. Fey and I call it ‘gardening’. Not sure what she’d do if faced with the prospect of having to be the one doing the chasing.”

“Alas, ships passing in the night, then. Alright, should we get back to this wine?”

She gestured for him to continue with a sweep of her hand, propping her chin in her fist.

“So the Roussillon region is way in the corner of Southeastern France, sandwiched between the Pyrenees and the coast. That close to the Mediterranean, the soil is diverse, sunlight is plentiful, and the cool breeze off the water keeps things from getting too hot, all of which make the grapes happy. The whites from here and other parts of Catalunya are bright and full of minerals, and the reds are dark and full of personality.”

He showed her the bottle again.

“This baby is from an Old Roussillon family. Dark fruit on the front end, white pepper and cocoa on the back to round it out. It has a finish that stays with you, and it’ll continue to open up the longer it’s in the glass. It’s...rewarding in that way. And it’s bright, too. Not this heavy, ponderous Cabernet shit you have to wade through to enjoy. This takes you on a journey. It isn’t just an excellent wine; it’s a pilgrimage for your taste buds.”

Nesta smiled, unable to help herself. She’d been to plenty of wine events in her life, had listened to dozens of sommeliers as they’d waxed dramatically over a certain wine’s flavor profile or—much to her disgust—its _personality_. However, none of them had Cash’s talent for crafting a compelling narrative. There was nothing flowery about the way he described the wine, but it was beguiling all the same.

She brought the glass to her nose, closing her eyes and trying to focus on what she was smelling. She got blackberries first, along with something a little richer she couldn’t really place. She took a sip. Plum, she realized as she held in her mouth. It was plush and somewhat heavy at first, not that much different than the type of cabs Cash had just been dogging. However, there was an acidity that hit the longer she held it on her tongue, and by the time she swallowed, the finish was bright and clean.

As always, Cash observed her as she drank, and she assured herself that it was professional curiosity that had him watching her so closely.

“And?” He prompted when she set down her glass.

“It’s...different,” she said. “I’ve never had anything like it; I can see how it could become a fixation.”

“Something for you to serve at your next dinner party,” he said, and she felt her spine stiffening slightly.

She couldn’t bring a wine this unique into the house and they both knew it. She could just imagine Tomás smashing the bottle in one of his... _fits_ , and she had to fend off a wince.

“There’s a gal with a place across town who I bet sells this stuff,” Cash offered, his gaze harder than his tone. “If not, I’m sure she’d be happy to order it for you if you did want to buy a case.”

She forced a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“She must be pretty hot if you’re sending your business over there.”

He smiled too, though it was half-hearted at best.

“She’s gay and married, so I would say my chances there aren’t great.”

He paused, running a hand through his unbound hair before continuing.

“I just figured...”

“Figured what?” she said, bristling.

Cash’s expression darkened, his voice midnight soft and edged in something like defeat.

“I know he doesn’t know you’re here, Nes,” he said quietly. “In fact, I’m going to bet he’s out of town, and that’s the only reason you felt safe coming in today.”

Nesta opened her mouth to protest and he paused, waiting. However, when nothing came out he pressed on.

“And I would fight with you on it and tell you it’s fucked up and complete bullshit, but I’m too afraid you’ll stop coming in at all, so this seemed like an...acceptable compromise. Besides, I can see how much you love wine; I don’t want you to have to sacrifice that for him.”

Nesta throat was unbearably tight.

“He hasn’t asked me to sacrifice anything.”

“It doesn’t seem like he does much asking at all,” Cash pointed out, arms crossed. “He just demands and expects you to obey.”

“You don’t know him.”

“Maybe not, but I do know emotional abuse when I see it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just because he hasn’t put his hands on you doesn’t mean he’s not abusive.”

Nesta only pursed her lips, and Cash’s face melted from unamused to vengeful.

“Has he?”

“Has he what?”

“Has he ever hit you? Please, don’t lie to me.”

“No,” she said, and it was true.

There had been a few times that things had gotten a little out of hand, where he’d grabbed her wrist a little too hard, but...he’d apologized for that. He’d promised to be better, and for the most part he had been. No one ever said that being in a relationship would be perfect.

“Elain told me that you fight all the time,” he said, voice flat. “She said he’s incredibly harsh when you do.”

Nesta grit her teeth.

“She had _no_ right to tell you that. It’s none of your business.”

“I care about you!” He snapped. “Why won’t you just let me?”

She felt her lip curling, claws coming out to defend the tender truth he’d been prodding at with his questions.

“Care about me,” she said with a snarl. “Or want to sleep with me?”

Cash reeled back as if he’d been slapped, and Nesta instantly regretted it.

“Is that seriously what you think of me?” He asked quietly, face a mix of pain and disgust. “Wow.”

“Cash, I’m—“

He cut her off.

“If that’s how you feel, I think you should probably go.”

“Cash, I’m sorry,” she tried again. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Didn’t you?”

“No, of course not! I—we’re friends.”

“We aren’t though,” he said, seeming more sad now than offended. “Because you’re so scared of your controlling, manipulative boyfriend that we can only ever see each other when he’s out of town. Can you seriously not see how fucked up that is, Nesta?”

“You’re right,” she said softly, glancing away so he wouldn’t see her wiping at the tears she hadn’t been able to hold back. “I should go.”

Cash deflated.

“Wait, please don’t. I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that stuff. Please, just stay. We can talk about something else.”

She wanted to. God damn her, she really, _really_ wanted to. She wanted to stay and let her wine open the way he’d described. She wanted to hear about how he’d become friends with Azriel Macar, and to tell him more stories about her sisters.

However, there were some things that couldn’t be unsaid, and now that they had been, Nesta knew things couldn’t go back to the way they had been; she could see that Cash knew it, too.

“It really was so good seeing you,” she admitted, trying and failing to keep the ‘goodbye’ out of her voice. “Take care of yourself, Cassian.”

She gave her still-full glass a mournful look before grabbing her purse and sliding off her stool.

“Am I ever going to see you again?” He asked, voice so quiet she always didn’t hear him.

Not knowing how to answer, she didn’t, simply flashed him a final smile and left.

Tomás called her on her way home, and she took a deep breath before picking up.

“Everything okay, querida? You’ve been at home all day.”

Nesta squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to block out Cash’s voice in her head.

“I’ve just been cleaning,” she lied. “But I’m heading to the grocery store soon. Do you need anything?”

“No, but don’t be out too long. I put in an order with Argonaut Liquors that’s going to be delivered to the house. We were almost out of red wine.”

Nesta felt herself curling in to absorb the impact of the barb, of the reminder of just how he felt about her going to Merchant of Vino.

“Okay,” she forced out. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

“Thank you again for flying out here,” Cash told Mor, who sat across from him at the low-lit bistro table. “I’m sure you have better things to do be doing.”

They were tucked in the corner of one of Cash’s favorite spots in the city, a lowkey cocktail bar with the only wine lists in the Bay Area he thought might rival his own. Mor—who’d only arrived from London several hours before—frowned, reaching across the table to squeeze Cash’s hand.

“More important than making sure you’re okay? No such thing, love.”

“I know I’m being stupid,” Cash said, looking down into his glass. “I don’t even know her that well.”

Mor shrugged.

“I get it. Sometimes you meet someone and it feels like you’ve known them forever. Maybe she was your mate in a previous life.”

Cash’s skepticism must have shown, because Mor gave a soft laugh.

“Or maybe you’re just very attracted to one another, and biology is urging you to get it on and have beautiful, brilliant mixed-race babies. Honestly, Doll, who knows. The point is that your feeling for her are valid, and you’re allowed to be upset.”

Cash took off his glasses to rub his eyes, trying to relief the tension headache beginning to pulse between his temples.

“She is just so—“

“So?” Mor prompted.

“Magnetic. She had me in her orbit within the first twenty minutes of meeting her, and now i have no idea how to get out of it.”

“Do you _want_ to get out of it?”

Cash gave a huff, taking a long draught of wine.

“What does it matter? She basically told me the last time I saw her that she wasn’t coming in anymore. I’ll probably never see her again.”

“Are you worried about her?”

Cash considered this, trying to extricate his jealousy from genuine concern.

“Yes,” he said finally. “I’ve seen the look in her eyes when I bring him up; I think at least some part of her is scared of him.”

“Have you talked to Rowan about it? Surely he’s dealt with stuff like this loads of times.”

“Aely’s in Bulgaria with the tour right now, and I know her being gone stresses him out. Besides, it kills me to say it, but what can either of us do? If she doesn’t want my help, I can’t force her to take it. More than that, I don’t want to. I just wish...”

“That she’d realize she could do better and break up with this horrid prick?” Mor offered.

“Well yeah,” Cash said. “But more realistically I wish there were some way for us to be friends. Not being able to see her—having no real way to contact her or know she’s okay—is literally driving me crazy. I swear to God, Every time I see a brunette my heart starts going crazy in my chest.”

He gestured to a dark-haired young woman who’d just walked in to emphasize his point. Mor looked too before cocking her head slightly and frowning

“Not being funny,” she said as Cash took another ambitious swallow of his drink. “But I think that is actually her who’s just walked in.”

“What?”

Cash studied the woman with more scrutiny, mouth going dry and as realized Mor was right. It was Nesta, a stunning woman with ice blonde hair at her side.

“Right, I know you don’t like when I talk about fate, but...” Mor trailed off, shrugging. “You cannot deny this is pretty fortuitous.”

Cash was barely listening. Nesta was dressed in dark jeans and silky tank top that looked tortuously similar to lingerie, smiling at her friend as they walked in arm-in-arm.

Before Cash had time to consider what he wanted his next move to be, Nesta looked up and they met eyes. He held his breath as they stared at one another, bracing for her scorn or displeasure. She didn’t look scornful, though, or displeased. Instead she looked...

Honestly, he couldn’t read her expression at all. And when they started towards him, he realized he didn’t really care.

“You alright, darling?” Mor said, sliding to her feet as Cash did the same.

“Fine,” he said too quickly before adding, “I think.”

Fighting to master himself and his surprise, Cash flashed a what he hoped was a disarming smile.

“Of all the gin joints,” he said, relieved when Nesta returned his smile with a good-natured eye roll. “You following me, Archeron?”

She flashed him the _Disney Villainess_ he loved so much.

“Wouldn’t that be an interesting twist,” she said, eyes flitting to Mor as she extended a hand. “I’m Nesta,” she said. “This is my friend, Manon.”

“Morrigan,” Mor said. “But call me Mor, please.”

“And this is my friend Cash,” Nesta told her companion.

The woman—who Cash guessed _had_ to be a model—let her honeyed eyes drift from Mor to him as she flashed a slightly wicked smile. No wonder she and Nesta were friends.

“Nice to meet you both,” she said.

Her voice was throaty and low, and might even have been considered hoarse were it not for her lulling French accent. Cash could feel Mor practically vibrating beside him. If there was one thing she loved more than blondes, it was French women.

Cash glanced at Manon to find her giving Mor a similarly appreciative look.

“I was just going to get another drink,” Mor said, slipping past Cash with a quick wink. “Manon, can I get you something?”

Manon smiled, brushing her satiny over a shoulder.

“I’ll come with you,” she said, gesturing for Mor to lead the way.

Cash and Nesta watched them go without comment before he turned to her, forcing a grin that didn’t quite feel natural.

“So I have to ask,” he began, but Nesta cut him off.

“Yes, she’s single,” Nesta said, voice a little stiff. “But I’d say Mor already has you thoroughly beaten.”

Cash tried not to deflate at the comment. Had she really thought that what he’d wanted, or was that just her way of reminding him she didn’t care what he did with his personal life?

“I don’t care about that,” he said honestly. “I was going to ask if that’s her real hair color.”

Nesta looked up at him, and he felt relief sluicing through him when he realized she was smiling.

“She had it stripped for a show she was walking in a few years ago, and her agency liked it so they asked her to keep it. Honestly, I don’t know how she keeps it so shiny with all the chemicals she puts in it.”

So Cash had been right: she was a model. It wasn’t surprising; objectively, she was most beautiful human being Cash had ever seen. Once that might have intrigued him, white hair or no. With Nesta beside him, he found he couldn’t care less.

“Should we join them?” Cash ventured after a beat of silence.

He didn’t want to seem like he was trying to get Nesta alone, even though the prospect had his heart sprinting in his chest.

“No,” Nesta said, sliding into Mor’s vacated seat. “Manon’s— _territorial_ when she’s on the hunt. It can be dangerous to try and interrupt her.”

Cash laughed, re-taking his own seat.

“Mor is pretty much the same,” he said. “Hard to say which Sadeghi the bigger flirt: her or Rhys.”

Nesta, who’d been reaching for his glass to take a sip, glanced up, thunderstruck.

“Rhys is a _Sadeghi_? Just how many famous friends do you have?”

Cash shrugged.

“I told you he was a billionaire.”

Nesta snorted.

“There are billionaires and there are _billionaires_. The Sadeghi’s are definitely the latter.”

Cash shrugged again. She wasn’t wrong; he was fairly sure the family owned half the hospitality real estate in the UK, with an eye cast towards buying the rest. Still, despite their flash, Rhys and Mor weren’t like the rest of the family. He hoped someday he’d get to introduce Nesta to Rhys and show her, even knowing it was a complete fantasy.

“That’s how I met Rhys,” Cash explained instead. “His dad put him in charge of managing the restaurant at one of his new hotels, and I’d been hired on as a junior somm there to help open the restaurant.”

Nesta considered, running her finger around the rim of his glass in a way that felt painfully sexual. Cash mentally slapped himself, not wanting to be the cad she’d accused him of being the last time he’d seen her.

“And you locked eyes across the crowded room and fell in love?” she supplied.

He laughed.

“Hell no. We fucking _hated_ each other. Honestly, I think the only thing we could agree on was that Azriel was some sort of serial killer.”

“He was there, too?”

“He was working for the design firm that was handling the interior. It took the three of us a long time to realize we actually got along. They’re both an...acquired taste.”

“Perfect challenge for a sommelier, then,” she said with a little smirk. “No wonder you like them so much.”

“I think you would, too,” he said, and he hated the way her face tightened.

He knew well enough by now what it meant: she was imagining what her prick boyfriend would say to her meeting strange men. The waiter appeared while he was still debating the merits of pushing the issue, and Nesta ordered a French red that had Cash grinning.

“I knew it. I’ve won you over.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’ve won nothing.”

“Nesta Archeron ordering an Old World wine when she could have had a California cab? I call that a win and shan’t be persuaded otherwise.”

“Shan’t you?” She said with another eye roll.

“Depends,” Cash said, pressing his luck.

“On?”

Cash grinned. 

“How you plan to persuade me.”

She glowered in a way that only served to make him laugh. However, he felt his mirth withering when her expression grew more solemn.

“I want to apologize for what I said the other day,” she announced, tone stilted and formal. “It was out of line.”

“It’s fine,” he said, not wanting to dwell on how deep the comment had cut. It was still tender even now. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not fine,” she said, and though her voice was sharp, her face had softened slightly.

Cash glanced up at her and found himself drowning in the storm-ridden blue of her eyes.

“I don’t think you’re—“ she began before mercifully trailing off. “I know you’re a good man; that comment was below the belt.”

“Quite literally.”

It was out before he could stop it, but she didn’t refute him.

“I have a tendency to go for the jugular in arguments,” she admitted. “I’m working on it.”

“I said some things I shouldn’t have,” he conceded, despite still feeling they’d needed to be said. “I’m sorry, too.”

Nesta’s mouth tightened as if she were bracing for him to continue, relaxing only slightly when he didn’t.

“Let’s just—forget it, then. Agreed?”

He felt like a fraud when she extended a hand. He couldn’t forget any of the things he’d seen with Tomás, and he doubted he’d be able to keep himself from bringing it again in the future. For now, though—for tonight—he forced himself to let it go.

“Agreed,” he said, slipping his hand into hers.

Just that bare bit of contact had his heart in his throat, but he forced the feeling down. He had no idea when he’d get to see her again; he wasn’t going to waste the evening pining when he could be simply enjoying her company instead.

“How’s your sister?” He tried instead, desperate to fall back into that easy rhythm they always managed to find.

“Which one?”

“Do I have to choose?”

“Rake,” she said, though there was no bite behind it. “They’re both well. Fey’s loving Berkeley—no surprise there—and Elain’s studying for the GRE. I don’t know why she’s stressing about it so much; she’s going to get top marks.”

Cash snorted.

“What?”

“Good point; I’m sure you were very relaxed while studying for the LSAT. Or the bar, God help us all.”

She bared her teeth at him before laughing.

“Ellie’s not like me. She’s...”

“She’s what?”

“Normal.”

“Well that was harsh,” Cash said. “Who the hell wants to be normal?”

Nesta dismissed the joke with a wave of her hand.

“She the most zen of the family. Between Feyre and I, someone has to be.”

“I’m afraid to ask lest I wake the dragon, but is she still dating Graysen?”

Nesta feigned a gag as the waiter finally arrived with there drinks. Cash had been so drunk on Nesta it had taken him until now to realize how long they’d been waiting for them.

“Unfortunately yes; as you probably know, there is little to no justice in the world. Cheers.”

They touched glasses, and Cash paused in taking a sip of his, unable to keep himself for indulging in this one small vice. He watched Nesta’s eyes flutter shut, and he could see her deconstructing the wine in her head, weighing its structure and flavor profile in a way that—to a sommelier—was almost unfair. He was more tantalized by watching her take that sip than he would have been had she been dancing topless on the table.

Their eyes met when she finally opened hers again, and he grinned at the pleasure she hadn’t bothered to keep off her face.

“There it is: sweet, sweet victory.”

“You have _not_ won me over.”

“Oh, you obstinate little witch. Yes I have.”

Nesta only gave a wicked smile.

“I consider any woman who wouldn’t have been burned at the stake in the 1600s to be living a dull life.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Cash said, and Nesta’s sinuous smile grew as they touched glasses again.

The conversation flowed as easily as the drinks after that, and when he finally realized the bar was closing and he hadn’t seen Mor in at least an hour, it was to find she’d already gone.

“I hope she wasn’t your ride,” Nesta said as she watched Cash scan the bar.

“That cheeky minx! She didn’t even say goodbye?”

“I think her mouth was a little busy.”

Cash turned back to Nesta, grinning like a fiend.

“Saucy, Archeron!”

“I meant kissing!” Nesta said, cheeks going a beautiful shade of pink. “They were kissing at the bar.”

“A likely story,” he said, and he watched her cover her face with her hands, blush going even deeper as she gave a sheepish laugh.

Tipsy Nesta, he realized. This was _tipsy Nesta_. He never could have imagined her being this unguarded and bashful. He couldn’t say he preferred it to her usual tart wit, but it was still desperately charming.

“Was Manon your ride?”

He hated himself for hoping she was, if only for the opportunity to spend a little more time with Nesta on the ride home.

“No,” Nesta said, mastering herself. “We took a car. I’ll call one once we get the check.”

Cash gave a wincing laugh, knowing how much she hated owing people. Part of him admired that she was a person who valued fairness and honesty. Another part of him cringed at it, knowing she was in a relationship with someone who probably wasn’t afraid to use favors against her when it suited.

She read his expression and pursed her lips.

“You picked up the tab.”

He grinned somewhat sheepishly.

“I never had one. The owner and my Uncle Dev go way back. We always give him his orders at cost, and in exchange we drink here for free.”

Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Is there anyone left in the world you don’t know?”

He grinned.

“Strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet,” he crooned, and she gagged.

“Gross. You would say that.”

“Worked on you, didn’t it?”

She sniffed.

“You’re my pro bono for the year.”

“Flattered to be worthy of such a distinction.”

She looked him up and down in that scrutinizing way she did before laughing to herself.

“Nothing ever upsets you, does it?”

He met her eyes, wild and depthless as the artic sea. He felt some of his good humor fading as he studied her, cherishing every detail.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he admitted quietly.

She took a deep breath, and he could tell she was trying to keep any telling emotion from her face. It didn’t quite work though, and the apprehension there was nearly enough to break him.

“I should get going,” she said.

“I’ll wait with you.”

“I don’t need a babysitter; I’m not drunk.”

“I never said you were,” he said, pleased when she didn’t object to him helping her into her coat. “Though I think I would probably pay a million dollars to see drunk Nesta Archeron. I’m imagining karaoke...”

“I _don’t_ do karaoke,” she said, trying to keep her disgusted frown from twisting upwards in amusement.

“Your voice can’t be that bad,” he teased, dodging her as she tried to elbow him in the stomach. “Or maybe it is?”

“It will be a cold day in Hell before I ever sing karaoke, I promise you that.”

Her phone dinged, and he realized he hadn’t seen her look at it all night. It meant Tomás must have been out of town.

“My car is here,” she said by way of goodbye. “It’s been an education, as always.”

He laughed, wishing she could stay and talk to him all night.

“Have a good night. Text me when you...”

He trailed off when the realization hit him. Even after all this, he didn’t even have a way to know she’d gotten home safe. He was so busy wallowing in that fact that it took him a second to notice her outstretched hand.

“Give me your phone,” she said, wiggling her fingers.

Dazed, he pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. A minute later she was handing it back, her expression resolute.

“There,” she said. “Now it’s official: we’re friends.”

He couldn’t help but smile when a text pinged through. She put a finger in his face as she narrowed her eyes.

“If you abuse this privilege with memes or pictures of dogs, I _will_ call the police on you.”

He wanted to ask about Tomás, about how afraid she been weeks ago when he’d suggested they exchange numbers. That’s when he realized—this must be her work phone. He fended off a dull rage that she felt she had to take such precautions, just glad that he’d at least know she’d gotten home alright.

“I make no promises,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

“Of course you don’t.”

“Goodnight, Nesta.”

Some of the exasperation melted from her face as she glanced up at him. They stood staring at each other for a moment before she leaned forward, a hand braced against his chest as she rose on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“Goodnight, Cash.”

She was halfway to the door before he could even begin crafting a response, and he only managed a dazed wave as she slipped through the door.

His skin burned where her lips had touched it, and he went to the bar and ordered a whiskey, every part of him still singing.

A few minutes later his phone dinged.

 _Home. Thanks for the wine; no more freebies_. 🐍

“ _No promises_ ,” he send back, still grinning ear to ear.

The night had been such exquisite torture, and yet he’d knew he’d be replaying every single second until he saw her again.

He was just pulling on his jacket when his phone began buzzing to signal he had a call. He looked at the caller id, smiling so hard it hurt.

He picked it up with a purred, “Miss me already, Archer—“

He was cut off by Nesta’s desperate scream.

“Nesta! What’s going on?”

He could hear the muffled echo of what sounded like a struggle, and on instinct he’d flipped on the audio recorder to capture the rest of the call.

“Nesta!”

“Get off me!” She sobbed through gritted teeth before begging, “Cash! _Cassian_ , h—“

He could hear the second voice now, the slight accent through the heaving curses.

He felt his blood go cold. All Nesta’s careful planning and evasions, all her cover-ups and capitulating. It had all been to avoid this.

“Where are you?” He demanded as she continued to cry and struggle, Tomás’s snarls in the background like a whetstone to Cash’s rage. But he didn’t know where she lived, had no way to reach her—

_“Nesta!”_

The line went dead.


	5. Mar de Frades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Please be aware that this chapter contains graphic depictions of domestic abuse which commence DIRECTLY blew the cut. EXTREME caution is advised when proceeding.

##  **Chapter Five: Mar de Frades**

* * *

Tomás had been on her from the moment she’s walked in the door.

The first thing to hit her had been her phone, which she’d once again left at home for the night. It'd struck her right in face, and she’d gone down to the floor with a cry.

By that time he was on her, screaming.

Demanding to know where she’d been, accusing her of cheating on him. 

He called her a liar. A whore. A useless bitch. 

And she hadn’t said a word through it all, still cradling her throbbing face and trying not to cry. 

She knew it would only make him angrier.

It hadn’t mattered, though. Her silence made him even more irate, and soon he was on her.

She’d taken most of the blows to her raised forearms, though there had been several to the face she hadn’t managed to defend, and soon her lip was bleeding, cheek smarting from a vicious slap.

Then he’d begun tearing at her clothes. She let out the first sob when she heard the silk of her tank top rip. 

It had also been her awakening.

 _No_ , she told herself.

She would not be a victim.

She would not let him take this from her the way he’d taken so many other things. 

Job offers. Hobbies. Friends. Freedom.

So she began to fight back. She scratched and bit and kicked, landing a blow to his groin that was hard enough to allow her to scramble free.

She needed to get out, she needed help, she—

She felt the hard edge of her work phone digging into her backside as she scooted desperately away.

She pulled it out, hands shaking so badly she could barely press her thumb to the home button. She kicked out at Tomás, who’d begun advancing again, before the phone unlocked. 

It was still open to her texts, to the last one she’d sent to Cash.

She pressed the call button, still thrashing her legs as Tomás continued his verbal assault.

Her heart stopped in her chest when she heard Cash’s voice, the relief a tang in her mouth. 

It was too late, though.

She screamed as Tomás’s weight fell on her, trying to get the phone away. She’s only had time to say Cash’s name before Tomás got the upper hand, grabbing the phone and smashing it on the hardwood.

It shattered, screen going a violent technicolor of ruptured ink before the phone turned off. She had no idea where her personal one was or if it was still working, but it didn’t matter. Right now, all that mattered was getting free.

She snarled as Tomás tried to pin her, struggling to shove a hand into her jeans. She responded by digging her nails into any skin using the sharp bone of her elbow to jam into Tomás’s face.

He howled in pain, and she took the chance, punching him off of her and sprinting for the stairs.

He was on her in an instant, throwing her back into the beautiful antique bookshelf that had belonged to her grandmother. 

Nesta cried out as it broke beneath her weight. 

Still, she wouldn’t give in. She hurled a heavy figurine that had landed beside her, distracting Tomás long enough to get free again.

She tore up the stairs three at a time, tripping out of her heels as she did. She could hear Tomás behind her but didn’t dare turn to look.

She sprinted for her closet and slammed the door before tearing for the attached master bath and closing the door, the lock turning just as Tomás threw his entire weight against it.

Panicked, she grabbed the chair Feyre had always teased her about.

The one her sister said made no sense in a bathroom. 

The one Nesta had always insisted was part of the french provincial decor.

The one she said the room _needed_.

She jammed it under the antique knob as hard as she could, reinforcing the door from being broken down.

Tomás continued his cursing, the doorknob quivering as he tugged and tugged and tugged on it.

Nesta couldn’t bear the sound, so she turned on both taps in the double vanity and then the shower to try and muffle his curses before huddling in the corner of the room, hands over her ears.

She had no idea how long she sat there; she only knew it was long enough that Tomás seemed to have retreated, at least for a time. Probably to do more coke, she guessed. She’d seen it lying on the kitchen table during their struggle. 

Another of his sins she’d willfully ignored. 

She listened as he broke things in the living room below, ears still covered.

She was trapped.

It was all she could think about. She’d escaped him, but she still had nowhere to go. Eventually he would come back, would find something to break down the door, and then—

She flinched as the sound below grew louder again, more banging and screaming and breaking glass.

She hugged her knees tighter to her chest, rocking herself. She needed to get out. 

She needed out.

Out.

 _Out_.

“Nes?”

She lifted her head, arms aching from how tightly she’s been clamping her hands over her ears. 

“Nesta?”

Slowly, she looked towards the barricaded door, trembling like a leaf.

“Cash?”

“I’m here,” came the reply, and she felt relief quaking through her hard enough to shake loose a sob.

“I’m here,” he said again, voice calm. “It’s over.”

Nesta let out another shuddering sob, uncoiling enough to let the blood flow back into her cramped legs.

“I know,” he said softly as she continued to cry. “But you’re safe now, I promise.”

It was the resolution in his tone that had her settling slightly, and she managed to sit up; it was the most she could do for several minutes.

Finally she managed to force herself to her feet, managed the pry the chair from the door and unlock it.

Cash was sitting against the wall, head bent as he kept his silent vigil. It was only when she appeared that he stood, holding out a blanket to her.

She began crying again as he gently wrapped it around her shoulders, careful not to touch her. It was a weighted blanket, one that Nesta kept for Elain when she had anxiety attacks. 

“You came for me,” she managed.

His brows drew together in a gesture of unmated pain.

“Of course I did. Do you want to sit?”

She nodded, and he ushered her to the divan in the middle of her spacious closet, helping ease her onto it before sitting down beside her. Still not touching her, but close enough she could feel his warmth.

Taking a shuddering breath, she lay her uninsured cheek against his shoulder, grateful when he didn’t react beyond nestling his head on top of hers. She breathed in his clean scent as she felt the first effects of shock settle through her.

Some time later there was a knock on the door, and Nesta felt Cash’s head turn to her, looking for her permission. She nodded a little, and he called, “Come in.”

The door swung in to admit a man Nesta didn’t know, and she might have bleated in panic at his size were it not for the badge hanging around his neck and the wicked-looking service weapon at his hip. 

Nesta studied his silver-grey hair—swept away from his face in a military-style undercut—and the _Ta Moko_ tattoo that extended from mid-neck all the way onto the back of his left hand.

Cash’s friend, she realized. 

Rowan. 

His green eyes were fierce as they took her in, but they softened a bit when they met her own. 

He started towards them but stopped when Nesta flinched, falling into a crouch to avoid towering over her any longer. 

“Nesta, I’m Detective Whitethorn. I’m with the SFPD.”

“I know who you are,” she said, voice hoarse. 

He nodded, dark brows pulling together as he studied her with professional care. 

“How are you feeling?”

She wasn’t sure. Everything just felt heavy. He waited, and when she didn’t answer he continued in an even voice. 

“I think you’re probably in shock, but I’d really like to get you to the hospital and have someone check you out; I’m concerned you may have a concussion.”

She shook her head, throat closing up. Hospitals always reminded her of her parents. Of the long night she’d spent in the waiting room, her sisters huddled in her arms as they waited for news.

Of the look on the surgeon’s face when she’d arrived to tell Nesta that her parents weren’t coming back.

“I can’t,” she began, feeling a hysteria bubbling up. “I don’t want to—“

“Okay,” Rowan said gently, holding up his hands. “I have a friend who has a private clinic nearby. Would you be willing to let her look you over? They’re closed now so it will just be us.”

Nesta glanced at Cash.

“You’ll like Yrene, I’m promise,” he said.

Nesta considered, pulling the weighted blanket tighter around herself.

“I don’t want to stay here tonight.”

“You don’t have to. We can get you a hotel, and I can have officers at the door if you want.”

The idea of being alone had another shard of terror breaking loose in her chest. She looked at Cash again.

“Will you stay there with me?”

His face softened.

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

Nesta glanced back to Rowan before nodding.

"I’m going to call Yrene and let me know we’re on our way,” Rowan said, rising to his full height. “I will meet you downstairs when you’re ready; take your time.”

He gave Cash a brotherly gesture of salutation before flashing Nesta a reassuring look and disappearing. 

“Do you want me to pack a bag for you?” Cash said when he’d gone. “Just tell me what you need.”

Nesta gave him instructions on toiletries and her favorite yale sweatshirt, washed into buttery softness from so many years of use. When it had all been packed, he reached out a hand in a gesture of invitation.

“Ready?”

She nodded mutely, the blanket still wrapped around her as he ushered her downstairs. She tried not the look at the carnage in the living room: the smashed bookcase and the bottles of liquor Tomás had thrown against the wall.

“It’s alright,” Cash said from her side. “We will get it all fixed up.”

Cash helped her into the backseat of Rowan’s truck, and they rode in silence to the small clinic.

As promised, only the doctor and one other woman—who Rowan had introduced as Detective Faliq—were there waiting. Cash assured her that he’d be there when she was done, and she was ushered back to the exam room. The gown the doctor helped Nesta into was soft, and warmed as though it had just come from the dryer.

Nesta remembered little of the exam beyond the photos the detective had taken of the bruises on her face and arms and the marks around her throat from Tomás's hands.

The Detective had promised Nesta she could wait to give a statement, and that she should just call Rowan when she was ready.

“I got a room at The St. Regis,” Cash told her when she reemerged. “Is that okay?”

When she nodded, he offered her the blanket back before they got back into the car.

It was only when they were in the room, the door locked and two unformed officers posted outside for added security, that Nesta felt herself relaxing even a fraction.

She hardly wanted to look at Cash knowing what a pathetic mess she was.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped out. “I should have—"

“Please,” he said, brows drawn. “Never apologize for tonight. None of this was your fault. You were so brave, and I—“ he broke off, clearing his throat gruffly. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“How did you know where to find me?"

“I called Elain. She’s on a flight back from Vegas as we speak. She’ll be here in a few hours.”

“How? It’s 3 am.”

Cash’s face was resolute as he said, “I called Rhys. He had a jet chartered for her.”

Nesta’s throat was tight.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“You need your sisters, Nes.”

“I don’t want them to see me like this,” she admitted, turning away. “I was supposed to be setting an example for them, teaching them how to make good choices, and I—I failed them.”

“No,” Cash said, expression growing grave as he studied her injuries. “Never. None of this is your fault, Nesta. I know it may take you some time to accept that, but I will be here to remind you whenever you need it; so will they.”

She choked on the tears, wincing as she brushed one from her a battered cheek. 

“You’re a good friend, Cash.”

He softened again.

“I’m no more than you deserve. Try and get some rest. I will be here when you wake up.”

She bit her lip.

“I promise,” he added gently. “I won’t leave until you’re ready for me to.”

She could only nod, and he gently peeled the covers back on one of the beds, letting her get under them before settling her own blanket on top.

She reached for his hand.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

He squeezed, his smile heartbreakingly gentle.

“For you, Nesta Archeron? Anything."

* * *

Cash had promised Nesta in the weeks following the attack that he wouldn’t treat her with kid gloves, and it turned out to be one of the hardest promises he’d ever made.

The first morning after the incident, she’d been more her old self than he would have thought possible. She’d already been dressed, showered, and on the phone with Rowan by the time he got up, and she’d waved him off when he asked how she was feeling. 

She’d been similarly stalwart when her sisters arrived, Feyre in a old Honda and Elain in a sleek town car Rhys had organized to pick her up off the runway when she landed. They’d both cried upon seeing her bruised face, but beyond the silver in her eyes, Nesta held herself together with the poise Cash has come to know and admire about her.

Still, there were cracks in everything.

He saw the her fear in her eyes when she thought no one was looking, and the way she sometimes pressed a hand to her chest in an effort to control her shallow breathing. 

She’d been staying with Manon—who Cash had come to suspect was actually a some sort of powerful witch—while her townhouse was renovated, and though the project had was originally only meant to last two weeks, Nesta had announced ten days in she wanted to redo the master bath was well, claiming she’d always hated the layout. 

Cash knew the truth, though, and it broke his heart. 

From the timeline Rowan had put together for the night of the attack, he’d estimated Nesta had been locked in that bathroom for almost half an hour, listening as Tomás screamed and destroyed her things. Ro had also said there’d been evidence Tomás had attempted to pry the door open. Cash couldn’t blame Nesta for wanting the tear the place down to the studs: it had been her prison, and if she hadn’t been clever enough to get the chair under the knob, it might well have been her tomb, too.

Nesta was generally stoic about the whole affair in the weeks that followed, insisting that Manon was gone enough that sharing her loft hadn’t proved inconvenient. However, Cash had received a call from her more than once late in the evening, quietly requesting he come downtown and stay the night so she wouldn’t have to be alone.

They never discussed it afterward—Nesta had made it exceedingly clear after the first time she had no intention of explaining why some nights were worse that others—and per his promise, Cash didn’t push. He simply slept on the couch, tv on a low volume so Nesta would know he was still there. 

Sometimes she would make him breakfast the next morning as a silent thank you even though she’d quickly proven to be a terrible cook. Other mornings she would simply give him a soft smile and squeeze his hand as she went about getting ready for work.

Those were his favorite mornings, and not just because of her burned potatoes and rubbery scrambled eggs. They were his favorite because they were the sorts of smiles that he’d never see her give anyone but her sisters, and it made him feel important to her.

They were also what finally made him realize something that had been staring him in the face since he’d met Nesta: he was falling _stupidly_ in love with her.

She often bristled when he offered her help in any way, assuming he was doing it because he felt bad for what she’d gone through. He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or dismayed that she didn’t realize it was actually because he was addicted to being around her, and any excuse to be in her presence—even if it was to go grocery shopping or to get her oil changed—was a blessing.

Still, it left him in precarious position. He knew it was only a matter of time before she figured it out, and he didn’t want her to feel as if he somehow expected something in return for his help. However, he also had no idea how to put distance between them without hurting her. She might not have been ready to admit it out loud, but she’d come to trust him, and he didn’t want to betray that trust by pushing her away when she needed him.

Cash rolled the problem of it over and over in his mind that morning in the shower, trying to see a way forward for them that didn’t end in heartbreak and disaster. He’d accepted a long time ago that Nesta could never be his. However, he also knew he couldn’t lose her. Being her friend had brought him a joy he’d thought he’d lost when he’d left London, and maybe it was selfish, but he didn’t want to give that up.

He ran a hand through his wet hair, swearing as he continued to go round and round. This wasn’t productive, he finally decided. He needed to get out of the house, maybe go for a run or see if Ro wanted to hit the gym—

His phone rang as he was turning off the tap, and he didn’t bother with a towel when he recognized the ringtone he’d assigned Nesta. 

His heart was in his throat when he picked up, praying she was okay. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d called him in hysterical tears.

However, she didn’t give him a chance to speak before she announced, “Get dressed. You’re coming to yoga with me.”

Cash let out a choked laugh in relief, cradling the phone to his ear as he wrapped a towel around his waist.

“Good morning to you, too, Beautiful. And you do yoga now? I thought you said that was for people who didn’t have the stamina for actual workouts.”

She gave a huff of faux irritation, and he could practically see her rolling her eyes. He waited for her to explain, and she let out a long breath.

“My...therapist suggested it,” she admitted after a beat, and he instantly felt like a dick for teasing her. “She thinks that meditation could be good for me.”

“I agree,” he said. “Az swears by it.”

“Of course he does,” Nesta said, though it was clear she’d only said it to fill the silence. 

There was a paused before she added, “And I didn’t mean to be—“ she cleared her throat. “What are you doing right now? Would you like to come to yoga with me?”

Cash’s heart ached at the quiet apprehension in her tone, but he forced himself not to react to it.

“Depends. If I wear my joggers, are you going to make fun of me?”

She gave a soft sound that he’d come to recognize as a sign of her (perhaps somewhat begrudging) amusement. 

“If I say yes, will you wear something else?”

“And deprive all the women in the class? Hell no.”

“Then yes,” she said immediately. “I will make fun of you.”

He grinned.

“Great, wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You’re insane. I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

Cash hadn’t wanted to ask why, but Nesta seemed to have developed some difficulty with being in the car since the attack, often preferring to let someone else drive when possible. He imagined it might have something to do with feeling trapped, which broke his heart even as it had his blood boiling.

Tomás was lucky he’d been denied bail; Cash still hadn’t fully conquered the urge to beat the prick unconscious if he ever saw him again.

“No,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the shop.”

True to form, Nesta arrived exactly twenty minutes later, and Cash forced himself not to admire her when he got in the car. The pants she wore emphasized the slender strength of her legs in a loving reminder that while she might have had a disdain for yoga, she was no stranger to the gym. 

And there was always something about seeing her hair in a ponytail, about the way it made her eyes stand out that just— _did things_ to Cash.

No, he couldn’t go there, not today. Not when Nesta was taking a step like this and counting on him not to judge her for it. So he pretended not to notice how fresh-faced and gorgeous she was as she pulled onto Columbus towards Embarcadero.

They chatted mindlessly as the drove, and Cash watched Nesta working to master her unease. He knew she was a person who thrived on ritual, and breaking one to try something new went against her grain. Still, she didn’t balk as they pulled into the parking lot of the posh studio, giving her hair a fluff in the mirror before grabbing a mat out of the backseat.

He watched as she pressed a hand to her chest in that way she sometimes did, and he decided to risk her wrath by quietly asking, “you good?”

“Fine,” she said, immediately letting her hand drop. “Just preparing myself for some gluten-free vegan twit named Keelie to tell me my chakra aren’t aligned.”

He laughed, giving her hand a quick, affectionate squeeze before getting out of the car. He was halfway to the door before he realized she wasn’t beside him, and he turned to find her on the phone, brows furrowed.

“Everything alright?” He asked as she hung up, turning the phone over and over in her hands.

“That was Rowan. He said he has some updates on the case and asked if I could meet him. Saved by the bell, I guess.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asked. “I can just grab a car back if—“

“No,” she said sharply before seeming to realize herself and softening. “I mean, yes, if you’re free...”

He smiled.

“I’m free,” he confirmed. “I don’t really want a lecture from Keelie, either.”

She gave an amused huff, seeming to relax a bit as they made their way back to the car. However, she hesitated at the driver’s side door.

He watched her as she studied the keys.

“Do you want me to drive?”

“I’m not an invalid,” she snapped.

“I never said you were,” he said, working to keep his face neutral. “I just asked if you wanted me to drive.”

She looked down at her keys again, throat working.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard,” she admitted quietly. “Sometimes I just get...”

She trailed off, and he fought the urge to fold her into his arms.

“You don’t have to explain. And not to be a Keelie, but don’t force yourself if you’re not ready. Try and just respect the feeling for what it is and go from there.”

She gave a snort of derision in a silent signal she didn’t want to discuss the matter any further before tossing him the keys.

“What next?” She said, crossing to the passenger door and nudging him out of the way with a hip. “Soy cheese and culturally-appropriated beads?”

He grinned, poking her gently in the side with her key. 

“Maybe. You know I live to surprise you, my lady.”

She rolled her eyes as she slid into the passenger seat.

“Cafe Jacqueline,” she said instead. “It’s on—“

“I know where it is. Ro’s fiancée loves that place; she’s a self-proclaimed slut for pastries.”

Nesta considered this.

“What’s she like?”

“Aely? She’s a riot. I think you two would get on like a church on fire.”

“Does she live here?”

Her tone remained neutral, but he could hear the soft hopefulness underneath, and it tugged at him so hard his throat tightened. He got the sense that beyond Manon—who Tomás had probably been too afraid to try and scare off—she didn’t have many female friends left.

“Most of the time. She’s plays on the AVP tour for part of the year, but when she’s not in season she’s here.”

“That’s impressive,” Nesta observed, and Cash couldn’t help grinning.

“The first time we all met her was at a mixed twos tournament in Waikiki. Ro was on a team with this chick Remy everyone hated, and they ended up playing Aelin and her cousin in the finals. Not only did Aely destroy Ro on the block, she got so under Remy’s skin flirting with him that Remy ended up storming off. Then later that night we’re out at a bar when Aely’s struts in, takes one look at Ro, and tells him he’s going to end up taking her home at the end of the night. Sure enough, two o’clock rolls around and they’re nowhere to be. We didn’t see him for the rest of the weekend after that, and by the time he flew back to the mainland they were a thing.”

He glanced over to see Nesta’s expression go full Disney Villainess, and he laughed.

“You’re right,” she said, laughing a little herself. “I would like her. I’m impressed that worked as well as it did.”

Cash shrugged in agreement. 

“In theory they make no sense together, but somehow they just...fit. Watching them fall in love was as confusing as it was fascinating.”

“I think some of the best couples are that way,” Nesta said after a moment. “Opposites attract and all that.”

Cash tried not to dwell on all the ways her and Nesta were different and still seemed to fit. 

Nesta fell into silence as they headed back towards North Beach, fingers twisting in her lap. Hand still resting on the gear shift, Cash turned his palm up to her in casual invitation. 

She glanced down at it for a minute before threading her fingers through his. Hers were shaking slightly, and he kept his grip gentle but firm. 

“I’m here,” he said as they pulled into the parking lot, giving a soft squeeze. “No matter what.” 

She nodded, letting go of his hand and getting out of the car. Rowan was sitting on the patio, and he got to his feet as they approached.

His eyes found Nesta first and he gave her a soft smile. Cash couldn’t have been more grateful, especially as Nesta relaxed a little beside him.

“Nesta,” Rowan said in greeting. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” Nesta said, taking a seat in the chair Cash pulled out for her. “Thank you for calling.”

It was here Rowan turned to Cash, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Nice pants, jackass.”

Cash only rolled his eyes before taking his own seat, pouring Nesta a coffee from the carafe sitting on table before preparing one for himself.

Nesta murmured her thanks before taking a long sip and staring down into her cup. Cash traded a glance with Ro but didn’t speak, knowing Nesta would when she was ready.

“You said you had something to tell me,” she said finally, jaw tensing as she forced herself to look at Rowan.

However, there was nothing but steely determination in her eyes, none of the dread she was clearly feeling showing through.

“I assume it’s not good news.”

“I wish it was better,” Ro admitted.

“The grand jury voted not to indict,” Nesta ventured, fists tightening in her lap.

“No, nothing like that,” Ro said. “The state still has every intention of prosecuting.”

“Have they assigned an ADA?”

“They have. Elide Lochan. She’s the best; I don’t think your case could be in better hands.”

Nesta nodded, running a finger around the rip of her cup.

“I’ve argued against her in court before. She’s good. It’s—that’s good news.”

Ro nodded.

“It is. But I also got word this morning that Tomás fired his attorney and hired new representation.”

“Who?”

Ro clenched his jaw.

“Beron Vanserra.”

Nesta immediately stiffened, face going pale.

“Who is he?” Cash said.

“The best defense attorney in the city,” she said, voice hollow. “Maybe even on the West Coast. He’s an animal.”

“I know you probably already know his reputation,” Ro said. “But he’s going to come at you with everything he has, and he’s going to make it personal.”

Cash felt the blood boiling in his veins. He could already envision the smear campaign this prick would run, and all the ways he’d seek to destroy Nesta’s reputation in an effort to undermine her credibility or break her resolve to testify.

“Thank you for telling me,” Nesta bit out, staring down into her cup. “I’m sure Beron was hoping to catch me off guard with this.”

“I promise you,” Ro said, expression melting into the avenging angel Cash had always so admired in him. “The SFPD and the DA’s office are completely behind you. I will make sure Mandray goes to prison for what he did to you.”

Nesta nodded tightly.

“Thank you,” she said. 

Ro nodded.

“And if there is anything you need,” Ro paused to meet Cash’s eye. “You know you can always call, day or night. Security, witness statements: anything my office can give you, it’s yours.”

Nesta nodded again, and Cash could tell by the way she tilted her chin down that she was trying to master the urge to cry. He wished she wouldn’t, wished he could tell her it was safe to be vulnerable here. Instead he settled for gently touching her back in solidarity before letting his hand drop. 

This seemed to settle her a little, and she looked up, shoulders rolled back as she met Ro’s gaze.

“Thank you for your persistence with the case. It’s...admirable.”

Ro gave her a considering look.

“Any friend of Cash’s is a friend of mine.”

Nesta nodded, abruptly rising from her chair. 

“Thank you,” she said a third time. “I will let you know.”

Ro nodded, rising as he and Cash traded a knowing look.

“Take care of yourself, Nesta. We’ll be in touch.”

She flashed him a quick turn of her lips before heading back towards the car, and Cash gave Ro a brotherly clap on the shoulder before following her. He was at a lose for say to her, concern fading to surprise when she extended her hand.

“Can I have my keys?”

Cash produced them, trying and failing to catch her gaze.

“Where are you going?”

Nesta pursed her lips, a familiar fire flashing in her storm-ridden eyes. 

“To hire a lawyer. I’m filing a civil suit. I can drop you off on the way if you want.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

She stiffened a little. 

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t,” he said evenly. “I’m asking if you want me to.”

She didn’t immediately answer, and he waited, heart thundering in his chest. 

“You don’t have anything more important to be doing?”

He met her eyes, waiting until he had her full attention so she could see the measure of his resolve.

“There isn’t anything more important than this; you know that.”

She nodded tightly, jerking her head towards the car. They didn’t speak for the entirety of the ride, and within twenty minutes they were pulling into the parking garage of a sleek glass building in the financial district. She headed straight for the elevator bank and to the 37th floor, clenching and unclenching both hands as she took several steadying breaths.

He knew better than to ask how she was, even though every instinct was roaring at him to fix this somehow.

Nesta was out of the elevator the minute it opened, sliding through the glass doors of a sleekly-appointed office and stalking over to the secretary.

“Is the boss in?”

“Yes, but you typically need any appointment—“

Nesta leaned over the desk, pressing the extension button and announcing, “It’s Nesta Archeron.”

The line clicked before a voice purred, “come in.”

Nesta brushed past the sputtering receptionist, seeming to know exactly where she was going as she threw open a closed office door.

The man behind the obnoxiously-lavish walnut desk grinned as she entered, his smile as well-oiled as his voice as he took her in.

“I figured I’d be seeing you sooner or later,” the man said in greeting, brushing his copper hair off his brow as he surveyed her attire. “But if you’re here for my help convincing Beron to drop the case, I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time; you know my father and I are no longer on speaking terms.”

At this Cash glanced at the man’s desk, whose name plate read “Eris Vanserra”. Apparently being an asshole ran in the family. 

“I don’t give a shit about that,” Nesta said. 

At this, the man—Eris—smiled more broadly, teeth bleached so white they were almost blue.

“You’re here to file civil suit,” he said in realization. When Nesta didn’t negate him, he pressed on. “You want to know if I’ll represent you.”

“You know I don’t like games, Eris.”

“And you know I don’t like losing, Archeron. Why should I risk going up against Beron in a ‘he said, she said’?”

Nesta grit her teeth. 

“Because you know what Tomás was like, and you know this is a case you can win.”

Eris smirked.

“True.”

At this his gaze wondered to Cash.

“Who’s this, your bodyguard?”

Before Cash could answer, Nesta clipped, “Yes. Are you in or not?”

Eris considered, drumming his finger on the desk.

“You must be pretty desperate if you’re here,” he mused. “I know you don’t like me.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

Eris shrugged to indicate he agreed.

“I assume you’ve got the support of the SFPD? Who was the arresting officer?”

“Detective Whitethorn.”

“Gag,” Eris said in a bored tone, lip curling. “Not a fan.”

Nesta crossed her arms.

“Can’t imagine he’s very fond of you, either. Yes or no, Vanserra?”

Eris considered again, scrutinizing Nesta with slightly narrowed eyes.

“You know I’m one of the few lawyers in the state with a winning record against Beron in court; that’s why you’re here. And I can’t pretend the idea of humiliating my father and that prick ex-boyfriend of yours doesn’t appeal to me, so yes, I will take the case, but only on one condition: you are my client, _not_ my co-council. I set the strategy, I make the statements, I do the objecting in court. You get in my way or undermine me, I quit.”

Nesta pursed her lips.

“Fine.”

Eris gave a self-satisfied smile, and Cash had to clench a fist to keep from punching the smarmy prick in the face.

“I will have the paperwork drawn up and sent to your office, then. In the meantime, I need all the evidence: police report, photos, texts, anything you have going as far back as you can dig up. You know Beron’s going to go for the jugular when he hears he gets a shot at you in civilian court. We need to be ready.”

“I have plenty of ammunition,”Nesta said tightly. “I’ll have it to you as soon as I get it all compiled. Anything else?”

Eris smiled, broadly enough to flash teeth again.

“I wouldn’t say no to dinner with your sister Elai—“

“Drop dead, Eris,” Nesta snarled. “Mention her again and you’re fired.”

Eris shrugged, chuckling.

“It was worth a shot.”

Nesta clenched her teeth hard enough that Cash could hear them grinding together, turning on her heel in preparation for storming out the same way she’d stormed in. 

However, seemingly intent on having the last word, Eris called, “And if Tomás doesn’t know about boy toy here,” he paused to give Cash a nasty smirk. “I would try and keep it that way. Beron gets whiff of you having something on the side and he’ll destroy you.”

Nesta didn’t react, and it took everything Cash had to mirror her insouciance, particularly when his instinct was dying to bite out something suitably foul.

“I’ll be in touch,” Nesta said. “And I mean it about my sisters, Vanserra. If I find out you’ve contacted either of them without my permission, I will make it my personal mission to steal every single one of your clients until this entire practice collapses around you.”

“Charmed, as always, Archeron,” Eris said, unruffled by the threat. “Tell my little brother I say hello.”

Nesta only flipped him a nasty hand gesture before sliding from the room, Cash on her heels. She ignored the receptionist’s babbling over parking validation, not stopping until they were out of the lobby and back to the car.

It was only then that she seemed to relent, running a hand over her hair and letting out a shaky breath.

“You okay?”

She took another deep breath, hand pressed to her chest again.

“Nes—“

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just—I need a drink.”

Cash extended his hand for the keys and she gave them over without argument.

“You’re in luck ,then,” he said, giving her a soft smile. “I happen to know the perfect place.”

By the time they arrived at The Merchant Nesta was acting more like her old self, even if Cash knew better. Still, he didn’t call her on it, knowing she was craving some semblance of normalcy.

Her expression was wary as Cash began rummaging for the keys to open the door.

“You didn’t close the shop for me today, did you?”

“No,” he said honestly. “We’re always closed on Sundays.”

She seemed to relax at that realization, slipping inside as he turned on the lights. Seeing her here always had his heart aching in his chest. It was one of his favorite places in the world, and watching Nesta’s eyes light up as she took in the familiar racks made him feel understood in a way he seldom had by anyone else.

“What are you in the mood for?” he asked. “There is this new vineyard in the Napa valley with a cab that—“

“Something white,” Nesta interrupted.

Cash made a show of looking around, frowning.

“Nesta Archeron specifically requesting a white wine? Are the end days upon us so soon?”

The tightness that had been coiled in his chest since their meeting with Rowan unfurled slightly when she rolled her eyes, a small smile wrestling to show on her face.

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” she sniffed. “I’m just...in the mood for something different.”

Cash paused his theatrical display to flash her a grin.

“I’ve been waiting for this opportunity since the first day I met you.”

“Good,” she shot back, seeming more relaxed as they settled into their familiar dance. “Then I trust you still remember the rules: you pour me something I don’t like, you don’t get a tip.”

“Still so little faith, even as all this time,” he said, shaking his head. “Very well then, my queen; prepare—as always—to be amazed.”

He made to disappear into the back, already debating what he wanted her to try, when she locked up.

“Where are you going?” She asked, looking on edge again.

“To grab something,” he said, noting the hand once again on her chest. “Do you want to come with?”

She considered, clearly trying to cover her unease. 

“It’s okay,” he coaxed softly. “I’m not going to make you sit out here alone if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t—“ she began, looking embarrassed and slightly guilty. “Sometimes it just hits me, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “Ever.”

“I’m fine here,” she said, perching somewhat stiffly on one of the ancient stools. “I can just wait.”

“Nes—“

“It’s fine,” she repeated, burrowing farther onto her seat in stubborn defiance. “Go get something before I change by mind and ask for a glass of Nickel & Nickel.”

He considered, torn between accepting and trying to convince her.

“You promised, Cash,” she said quietly. “No kid gloves.”

“Be right back, then,” he said. “The door is locked.”

She nodded, and he forced himself to relent, heading straight for the Iberian whites and grabbing a bottle. If he was being honest, he’d had it earmarked for months, waiting for the day that Nesta agreed to try it.

He emerged to find she’d gotten up to once again admire the exquisite craftsmanship of Az’s table. He watched her fingers as they traced the grain, knowing what it would mean to his friend to have someone with taste as refined as Nesta’s appreciating his work. The thought made his heart swell to bursting, and he had to fight not to tell her as much out loud. Instead he grabbed two glasses before joining her. 

She watched him as he settled cross-legged on the top, seeming to debate whether she’d wanting to defile the table’s elegance by joining him. After a minute she relented, mirroring his pose and watching him expectantly.

“Right, where to begin? I’ve imagined this so many times, but I—“

Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Enough histrionics. Just pour me a glass; I think after today I’ve earned it.”

He knew it was meant to be a joke, it but lacked her usual bite, only the bare truth of it left in the wake.

“Can’t argue with that,” he said softly before presenting the distinctive blue glass bottle to her. “This is Mar de Frades. Albariño from Rías Baixes in Galícia, and the best white wine you will ever taste.”

Nesta snorted.

“Low bar there.”

He ignored her and continued on.

“It’s all fresh citrus and honey at first, but then it gives way to something minerally that is just on the right side of effervescent because of the salt in the soil. I told you the first day we met that the Roussillon was the best terroir can be, but I’m changing my mind. This is what terroir is about. To drink this wine is to _be_ in Galicía. To understand the region and it’s traditions. To feel what it’s people so love about the land. Honestly, I think this wine might be the closest thing to a magic potion I have in this whole shop.”

His pulse jumped at the smile Nesta gave, small but soft.

“That’s quite an introduction,” Nesta said, bringing the glass to her nose. “Makes you wonder how the wine could ever measure up.”

He watched as she took a sip, brows furrowing slightly as she held it on her tongue. She let her eyes flutter shut as she set down the glass and tipped her head back, and he surprised and more than a little alarmed as he watched a tear slip down her cheek.

When she looked at him again, her eyes were full of them. He gently reached a hand out, and when she didn’t recoil he brushed the tears from her cheek.

“What is it?”

“It reminds me of my mom,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “She was from Braga, and she would take us to Portugal during the summers when we were kids. When I got a little older, she sometimes let me drink wine with her. This was exactly what she always drank.”

She ran a hand down her arm, and he saw the goosebumps on her skin.

“This makes me feel like I’m back in Caminha. And it makes her feel...a little less far away.”

She looked down in a gesture he’d come to understand mean she’d said all she’d intended to, so as much as he wanted to push—to ask her more about her family and hear her speak Portuguese in that flawless accent she had—he knew he had to forge on.

“So does that mean I still get my tip?” He ventured, craning his neck to try and steal her gaze.

She gave a soft snort of laughter, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes before pushing his shoulder.

“Bastard.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, delighted to see her smiling after everything that had gone on today. “I’ll settle for your middle name.”

Nesta’s eyes flashed.

“Absolutely not.”

Cash only shook his head in mockery.

“If you don’t tell me, know that I can just ask Elain.”

“Ugh,” Nesta said, pausing to take another sip of her wine. “I knew I should never have let you two become friends.”

“C’mon, Archeron. Don’t hold out on me.”

Nesta bit her lip, color coming into her cheeks as she finally said, “Flaviana.”

Cash had keep his stunned reaction in check. There were very few things he considered to be as beautiful as Nesta, but her name might honestly have been one of them.

“I know,” she said, misinterpreting his silence. “It makes me sound like a call girl.”

“I think it’s—“ he caught himself before her blurted the word ‘gorgeous’, trying again with, “I think it suits you.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, though he could swore the comment had actually pleased her.

“Thank you.”

He shrugged.

“It’s true.”

Nesta’s brows furrowed as she peered down into her glass.

“Not for that,” she said. “For—today.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” he said honestly. “It was nothing.”

“You’re worse at getting compliments than I am at giving them,” she said with a sniff. “And it...wasn’t nothing. Not to me.”

“I’m happy to do it,” Cash assured her, finding himself dangerously close to admitting more. “But you’re welcome.”

She gave him a somewhat strained smile before uncrossing her legs.

“I should—get back,” she said after a pause. “My sisters are coming up for dinner.”

He nodded, uncoiling to his own feet as well.

“Tell them I say hi,” he said. “And take a bottle of Albariño with you.”

“I’ll take a case,” she said. “But only if you let me pay for it.”

He could see her working to regain the autonomy her ordeal had temporarily taken from her, and for once he didn’t fight her.

She did allow him to carry it to the car for her, and he saw her once again studying her keys as he put the case in the trunk.

“Do you want me to drive you? I can just get a car back.”

“Don’t be a Keelie,” she snapped, closing her fist around the keys hard enough that her knuckles went white. “I’m fine.”

“Fair enough,” he said, crossing his arms to keep from reaching for her again as her free hand drifted to her chest. “But speaking of Keelie, I think you should try again with the yoga. Next Sunday? I’ll even let you buy me brunch after.”

She considered, glancing back at her keys a final time before nodding somewhat stiffly.

“Fine. It’s a date.”

Cash forced himself to ignore the way that word fluttered through him, holding open the car door for her before closing it before grinning at her through the open window.

“It’s a date.”

She gave a weak smile, reaching out to tentatively touch his cheek in farewell.

“See you soon, Nes,” he said, fighting not to lean into the soft caress. “Call me if you need anything.”

She pulled her hand back, face shuttering a bit as she nodded, turning on the engine.

“See you next Sunday,” she said, and before he could ask if he could see her before that, she’d taken off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: If you are the victim or survivor of domestic abuse or are afraid you might be, please explore your resources as your able. You can visit the domestic abuse website at www.thehotline.org for resources and to chat with an advocate or call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233. Always put your safety first and know that you are loved and worthy. <3


	6. Chapter VI: Armand de Brignac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: There are brief and indirect mentions of physical abuse in this chapter, please be advised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many of you know, I had planned to delete all my works from this site so they would no longer be accessible to those vile “pocket fanfic” mobile apps (if you are using those and downloading works from authors to read offline...don’t. I get that not everyone has internet access all the time, but it’s totally unfair to take possession of a work without the author’s consent...I digress) 
> 
> HOWEVER, I am have decided it’s not fair to punish readers who have done nothing wrong by forcing them to tumblr or denying them access to this story. Thus, I will be keeping all my works on Ao3, which means that—at least for now—they will remain on the app. 
> 
> If you want to support me as an artist PLEASE CONSIDER FINDING THE APP FANFIC POCKET ON YOUR APP STORE AND DESTROYING IT IN THE COMMENTS. I’ve requested my works be removed, but I’m also working to get this app driven into the ground. Let that be a lesson to y’all: I am a VERY vengeful ghost. 
> 
> Love you all, thank you for your support <3

Nesta stood in front of the bed in nothing but a robe, grinding her teeth as she studied the contents of the garment bag lying atop it. She sneered at the cream silk blouse and its stupid tie front bow, fighting the urge to scream. The fact that Eris had even had the colhões to tell her what to wear at all was bad enough, but for him to pick this—and to have it sent to her office like she was a call girl in some tone-deaf nineties chick flick—she honestly could have killed him.

She would kill him, she decided, as soon as the trial was over. She’d fire him, then she’d kill him and dispose of his body for good measure. She briefly wondered what it said that she was soothed by the prospect of violence as she forced a deep breath and let her hand fall from her chest.

It didn’t matter. Not today, when there was so much riding on her being able to maintain her composure. If she had to fantasize about killing Eris to see Tomás punished, it seemed a rather small sin to bear.

She turned her attention back to the outfit now that she’d settled slightly, clenching her jaw until it clicked. She understood why Eris had picked this particular ensemble—it was demure in a way that Nesta herself was not—and fragility could go a long way in swaying a jury to rule in her favor. Still, the idea of putting it on and pretending she was some broken little doll...it chafed at a scar that had yet to fully heal.

With a swipe, she’d sent whole bag—which contained the blouse and an accompanying pair of winter white slacks—to the rug, strutting back to her walk-in in search of something more suitable. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter what she was wearing or how she behaved: Beron was coming for her, and no amount of virginal white was going to spare her from the accusations he’d try to pin on her. If she was going to do battle, she was going to be properly armed.

Her closet was arranged in color order, and she made her way to the large section of black in the corner. She spent a minute or two in consideration before pulling a fitted wool sheath off the hanger and sliding it on. With its high neckline and the tasteful slit in the back, it screamed ivy-educated ball-buster, but Nesta found she didn’t care. She wasn’t a martyr, and she wouldn’t pretend to be. If Beron wanted a villainess, she’d give it to him.

She selected an equally dangerous-looking pair of shoes, knowing it was all or nothing. Nesta fended off a flinch as someone knocked on the door, reminding herself that she was in her own home and this was once again a safe space.

She dropped the hand that she’s automatically brought to her chest, shaking it out.

“What?”

“Nes, you almost ready, love? We should probably get going soon.”

Nesta felt the flitting wing-beats of her heart slow to something more controlled at hearing Cash’s voice.

Months ago Nesta might have snapped him for any one of the liberties he’d just taken—using her nickname, or calling her love, or the simply being in her bedroom, where no man but Tomás had ever been allowed.

But she wasn’t that same woman she’d been the first day she’d met him, so choked on rules and fear that she’d hardly been able to breath. She’d fought for her independence and won, and she took pride in knowing she’d freed herself enough from the damage Tomás had caused to allow Cash into her life.

She found him leaning against the far wall when she emerged, dressed in a pristine charcoal suit with his dark hair pulled into bun at his nape. He nodded when he saw her, eyes sweeping from her hair to her spiky Prada pumps.

“What?” She said, trying to read his expression.

She’d grown used to the appreciative way he often looked at her, but this look was different somehow, and she felt oddly naked beneath it.

“What?” She repeated when he didn’t answer, actively fending off a flush now.

“Good girl,” he simply replied, gaze fierce as he met hers. “For not playing Vanserra’s stupid games. You don’t need to pretend you’re anything other than what you are.”

She wasn’t sure how to explain what his reassurance did to her—how it made her feel taller somehow, and lighter than she had moments before.

“I couldn’t stand the bow,” she said instead, and he grinned, broad enough that something bright fizzed through her.

If she’d found it irksome how handsome he was when she’d still been in a relationship, now that she was single it’d become downright distracting. As often as she caught him admiring her, she knew she’d been guilty of it herself on several occasions, this morning included.

She’d never seen him dressed so formally before, and though she had to admit she missed his earrings—which he’d removed for court—Cash in a tailored suit was a rather devastating thing to behold.

“You ready?” He said as she gathered her purse and slipped on her watch.

“I just need to grab my jacket from downstairs,” she said.

He didn’t reply, and she glanced up from her dressing table to find him watching her.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “Are you ready for today?”

“Yes,” she said automatically, and when he only raised his eyebrows, she got up and wandered to the chaise in the middle of the room—the one they’d sat on together that very first night—and sank down.

Wordlessly he came to join her, and it was instinct to lay her cheek on his shoulder, breathing in his fresh sage and lemon scent.

“Talk to me,” he said, settling his head atop hers. He didn’t touch her beyond that, and she refused to acknowledge the part of her that wished he’d put his arm around her.

“Beron’s known my family a long time, and he basically watched me grow up. He’s going to know just where to hit me, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to take it.”

“You can,” Cash said without hesitation. “I know you can.”

She sat up so she could look him in the eye.

“How?” She asked, trying to pretend she didn’t seen the way his eyes flicked to her lips, and trying to avoid hers doing the same.

“Because you’re a bad bitch, Nesta Archeron,” he said, chucking her chin. “And you can do anything.”

“I don’t deserve you,” she said quietly, and his expression grew solemn.

“You deserve everything,” he said. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Feyre and Elain were in the kitchen on the main floor drinking coffee when Nesta and Cash arrived downstairs, and they both made a show of pretending they hadn’t been waiting for Nesta as she appeared.

“I thought you were wearing that outfit that was on your bed,” Elain said in too-casual greeting.

“I changed my mind,” Nesta said, hoping neither of them planned on pressing the issue.

Feyre hummed her approval. True to her rebellious spirit, she was dressed in a pair of black jeans which only bore a cursory resemblance to the dress pants she’d been instructed to wear, and a sweater Nesta had bought Feyre at least four years ago.

“This suits you much better,” Feyre said.

“You’re going to be great,” Elain chimed in, proffering her own coffee to Nesta.

Nesta gently waved her off, stomach too tight for any sort of food or drink.

“It’s Eris who were have to worry about,” she pointed out.

“I don’t think so,” Elain said, tone matter-of-fact. “Lucien said he’s incredible in court.”

“If he’s not too busy drooling over you,” Feyre muttered into cup, and Elain scowled.

“Ew, please don’t start with that today. My nerves can’t take it.”

Nesta fought not to stiffen at the admission Elain was nervous, immediately debating whether she’d made a mistake letting her sisters come to the trial. They’d already been through so much, and she knew Beron would have no qualms about making them collateral damage if it helped his case. What if he—

Nesta hadn’t realized her shoulders had bunched to her ears until she felt the weight of Cash’s hands gently easing them back down. He didn’t say anything, but her muscles uncoiled as he gave them a soft squeeze. She melted into the quiet reassurance of the gesture, and her resolve not to lean into his warmth had nearly disintegrated when she felt his hands slipping from her shoulders as he took a step back.

“Shall we then, ladies?” He said, no indication in his voice that the touch had meant the same to him as Nesta feared it might have to her.

“Shotgun,” Feyre announced in response, and Elain tugged on one of Feyre’s loose curls.

“Let Nes sit in front, you selfish cow.”

“Nes is sitting in front,” Nesta said, though she could have kissed her sisters for the normalcy of their exchange, unchanged from when they were teenagers forced to share a bathroom.

“Lucky Cash,” he said, flashing her Feyre a wink when she laughed at the comment.

Nesta only rolled her eyes, grabbing her purse and coat before skirting the others to head out the door. However, Elain grabbed her gently by the arm.

In an instant Feyre was there as well, weaving her fingers with Nesta’s and laying a head on her shoulder.

“We’re here,” Elain said, expression serious but calm. “No matter what gets said today, we’re here, and we can handle it.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Feyre added. “It’s our turn to take care of you.”

Nesta’s clamped her lips together so hard that he jaw ached. Despite what they’d said, she couldn’t let herself cry in front of her sisters.

“Thank you,” she finally managed. “For—“ She broke off when her throat was too tight, and Elain pressed her forehead to Nesta’s.

“You’re brave for putting yourself through this,” she said as Feyre rested her cheek against Nesta’s back. “And we are proud to be your sisters.”

“Not proud,” Feyre said. “Honored.”

“Stop,” Nesta choked, extricating her hand from Feyre’s so she could wipe at her dampening eyes. “I’m going to lose it.”

“Also I think Feyre’s offer to kick Beron in the balls still stands,” Elain said, wiping Nesta’s cheek as well.

“It does,” Feyre said. “And Eris, if you want.”

Nesta laughed, marveling that she even could on a day like this.

“I will take that under advisement. Let’s go.”

Nesta didn’t make any pretense over driving, simply handed Cash her keys and climbed in the car. She similarly didn’t resist when he offered her his hand to hold. For once she took it gratefully, wondering if he minded that hers were so clammy. The way he squeezed when she dared a glance at him seemed to say he didn’t, and she couldn’t begin to unravel how grateful she was for that tacit acceptance.

She tried to let that idea ground her as they got closer to the courthouse, but her stomach had wended into a serpentine knot by the time they arrived, squeezing so tightly she felt almost ill.

Nesta fended off the temptation to take Cash’s hand again when she was out of the car, forcing some bravura into her stride instead as they entered the building. Normally Nesta found the marble and mahogany interior of the courthouse soothing. This was her temple—her sanctuary—and it was here she felt most empowered to take on the world and win. Today, it seemed as if she were seeing the space for the first time, and everything that had been comforting about it felt forbidding instead.

She realized this was likely how others saw it. Not as a place of power and majesty, but a place of castigation and fear. She tried to remind herself why she was doing this, but standing outside the door waiting to be put on display, she found her nerves waning.

“Are you okay?” Feyre said quietly from beside her. “You’re really pale.”

Nesta forced a breath through her nose, nodding.

“I think I’m just caffeine deprived,” she said, giving her sister a tight smile. “Will you be a lamb and go get me a latte from across the street? Ellie knows where it is.”

Feyre seemed relieved to have a task, and Nesta shoulders ached from keeping herself from sagging until her sisters had disappeared from sight. Only when they were gone did she let herself sit down, resting her forehead in her palm.

“You should have told me you needed coffee,” Cash said, easing down beside her. “I would have brought you one from Cafe Jacqueline.”

“I can’t eat or drink anything,” Nesta admitted. “I just—“

Cash nodded.

“I get it. But they aren’t as fragile as you think, Nes. It’s okay to lean on them; they can take it.”

Nesta didn’t reply despite knowing he was right. It wasn’t that she didn’t think her sisters could handle things, it was that it was sometimes hard to accept they were old enough to.

“Archeron.”

Nesta looked up at the sound of Eris’s voice, feeling like she was being called to the principal’s office as she rose to her feet.

Eris surveyed her with a critical eye as he approached, his expression etched with more authority than his normal juvenile smugness.

“What are you wearing? I told you to go with the white,” he said in greeting. “You look like the Witch Witch of Corporate America in that.”

Nesta crossed her arms in response, oddly grateful for the fire the comment stoked in her chest.

“I’m not going to let you dress me up like Battered Spouse Barbie just because you’ve decided I don’t come off as fragile enough. I don’t have to look like a victim to prove I am one.”

She realized that her hand had come to her chest involuntarily, and she looked away as she forced it back down, not wanting to betray her unease.

“Archeron,” Eris said, and when she continued to avoid meeting his gaze, he touched her shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Nesta, look at me.”

She did, and it was the first time she saw something on his face she felt she could trust. For a moment he was the same winsome teenager she’d had a crush on all those years ago, and Nesta felt some modicum of her unease abating.

When he was sure he had her full attention, Eris pressed on.

“We’ve got this, alright? I have got this, but I need you to keep it together. A few tears I can work with, but full-blown hysteria is going to give Beron an opening and possibly freak the jury out.”

“Are you always this tactful?” she snapped, brushing off his hand. Eris only pursed his lips.

“I’m serious. I...appreciate how difficult this must be for you, but I am asking you to dig deep and stay strong. If you do that, I promise I will get you the win. Deal?”

“Fuck off,” she said, and the corner of Eris’s mouth curved upward in a sinuous half-smile.

“There’s the mouthy bitch I love.”

Nesta had almost forgotten Cash was there, but she was grateful for the interruption when he cleared his throat. When Eris only smirked at him in response, Cash frowned.

“You made your point, asshole. Try and have a little respect.”

Eris pinched his lower lip between thumb and forefinger, assessing Cash in that way only lawyers knew how.

“I was on the fence about putting you the stand,” he mused aloud. “But I think it was a good call; your ‘blue collar gypsy’ routine is weirdly humanizing. As long as you can keep a handle on that lovesick look you’re always giving Nes, we should be good.”

“Enough, Eris,” Nesta said, actively fighting not to press a hand to her chest, where her heart flitted like an agitated bird against the cage of her ribs. “The last time I checked, I wasn’t paying you to be a dick.”

Eris cut her a glance.

“That’s exactly what you’re paying me to be, Archeron. Act like you’ve been here before.”

Nesta only bared her teeth, ready to say more when she spotted Feyre weaving back towards them, Nesta’s coffee in her hand and Elain at her side. Feyre gave a soft frown when she saw Eris while Elain pretended as if she couldn’t see him.

“Ladies,” he said in greeting, gaze snagging on the spun gold of Elain’s honey-colored braid as she continued to dutifully ignore him. Nesta could have killed him for the way his eyes roamed south, pausing as they took in Elain’s full chest.

“Lovely to see you both.”

“If you don’t win this,” Feyre replied simply, handing Nesta her coffee. “I hope you know we will never forgive you.”

Eris gave an unpleasant chuckle, finally tearing his attention away from Elain.

“I have no intention of losing, baby Arch.” At this his tawny eyes flicked over Feyre’s shoulder and his nasty smile returned.

“Ah, and now the gang’s all here.”

They turned in unison to see Rowan striding towards them. Like Cash, the suit he wore made him look more serious than usual, a feat that Nesta previously would have deemed impossible. The navy set off his bronzed skin and flashing green eyes, and the juxtaposition of its clean lines with his silver hair and tattoos made him look like a model in an avant-garde fashion show.

“Wow,” Feyre whispered as he approached, eyes sparkling as she drank him in. “He is—“

Elain surreptitiously trod on her foot to shut her up. Rowan flashed Nesta and Cash a small smile in greeting when he reached them before offering her sisters a brief nod. Eris, he ignored completely.

“Good to see you, Whitethorn,” Eris said. “How’s your fiancé?”

Rowan turned to give an unpleasant flash of teeth.

“Still more woman than you and your tiny prick could ever handle.”

Rowan turned his attention to Nesta amidst Eris’s sullen lack of retort.

“How are you feeling?”

“Glad that it will be over soon.”

Rowan nodded.

“Elide said she’d be here for the entire trial. No matter the outcome of the civil case, we will get him in criminal court.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence,” Eris sneered.

Rowan didn’t balk, and despite his frankness, Nesta found comfort in his honestly.

“Beron is an animal.”

“Lucky for you all, so am I. It’s time, we need to go inside.”

An unpleasant weight began pressing onto Nesta’s chest when she realized Cash wouldn’t be coming in with them. Eris had decided to withhold Cash from court until he was due to testify, and was quick to silent Nesta when she objected.

“You know what Beron will say,” Eris had said when they’d first argued about it. “That you two are fucking, and that this is all a farse to take Mandray’s money.”

“I don’t give a damn about the money,” Nesta had snarled, not wanting to admit to Eris that what she did care about was having Cash there.

“Tell that you the jury.”

Nesta swallowed, coming back to herself enough to realize Eris was studying her intent.

“Problem?”

Nesta forced herself not to look at Cash.

“No.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

It was here that Nesta did glance in Cash’s direction, and she was grateful to Elain when she put a hand on Eris’s arm to keep him from interrupting as Nesta crossed to Cash.

Feyre and Rowan both casually turned towards the waiting double doors as Nesta took Cash’s outstretched hand, squeezing tightly.

“Tell me it’s going to be okay,” she said quietly. “If you say it, I’ll believe you.”

“It’s going to be okay,” he said.

She bit her lip, feeling childish as she asked, “how do you know?”

He gave a winsome smile, and Nesta was sure she’d never seen anything more beautiful in her entire life.

“Because you’re a queen, Nesta Archeron. Now straighten your crown, go in there, and see your will be done.”

She smiled, and he touched her cheek, the press of his fingers setting her skin to tingling.

“Proud of you, Nes. No matter what.”

“Thank you,” she croaked, gently pulling his hand from her face so she wouldn’t be tempted to lean too far into the gesture. “For being here.”

He grinned.

“No where else I’d rather be. Knock ‘em dead, kid.”

She nodded, making sure to keep her hands at her side as she crossed to where the others were waiting. Eris gave her once-over before nodding to the bailiff in silent request the door be opened.

Nesta didn’t have the energy to object as Eris placed a hand to the small of her back to usher her forward, tawny eyes scanning the assembly as they made their way to the plaintiff’s table.

“Heads-up that Mandray and my father are already here,” Eris said, voice soft enough that only she could hear him. “Don’t look over there unless you’re ready for it.”

Nesta blew out a long breath, clenching her hands to control their trembling.

“How does he look?”

She watched Eris turn in her peripheral.

“Smug as usual,” he said finally before glancing at her. “Calm down. We can’t afford a meltdown.”

“Well you constantly commanding I be calm is definitely helping,” she snapped under her breath. “You know how we females love that word.”

“That’s good, get it out now,” Eris shot back. “I need Mother Teresa when I put you on that stand.”

Nesta rolled her eyes before realizing that the exchange had helped with her shakiness. A glance at Eris told her he’d bated her on purpose, and Nesta couldn’t decide if she loved or hated that he’d known arguing would help her focus.

Taking a steadying breath, she squared her shoulders and glanced to the defendant’s table, were Tomás and Beron were in quiet conference. Tomás head was bent as he listened to Beron speaking in his ear, and Nesta studied him for a moment. It was strange, she mused, how close love and hate seemed to be. Once, Tomás had been all she’d ever wanted. Now, it was an effort not to wrap her hands around his throat as he’d once done to her.

He must have sensed her attention because his head snapped up, and Nesta fought not to flinch at the sudden gesture as he met her gaze. It took more strength than she’d thought she had to hold his stare, but after what he’d done to her—after what he’d tried to do the night he’d been arrested—she couldn’t allow him this victory, inconsequential as it was. Though she could see his lips twisting into a well-oiled smile, his eyes remained cold as ever, and she felt a shiver slithering down her spine. Tomás must have seen it too because his grin widened, and Nesta felt her nerve failing her before Eris nudged her gently in the side.

“You’ve made your point, Arch. Don’t let him in your head.”

True to form, Nesta felt an acerbic response fizzing on her tongue, but before she damned the consequences and voiced it aloud, the judge was announced and the court was ordered to rise.

The Honorable Miryam Abrams was a no-nonsense woman in her mid fifties, her graying hair cut short and a pair of red spectacles hanging on a chain around her neck. Nesta had never argued in front of her before, but she knew Judge Abrams by reputation to be tough-minded but fair. Judge Abrams’s mouth pursed as she took note of the Vanserras sitting cross the aisle from one another.

“A family affair, I see,” she said in greeting, settling on the bench and eying the two men with no small amount of disapproval. “I trust, gentleman, you will find a way to remain civil. I assure you I have no qualms about holding either—or both—of you in concept should you get out of line.”

“Understood, your honor,” they chorused before trading a cool look across the table.

“Shall we proceed, then?” Judge Abrams said, consulting the folio in front of her as she read out the case.

Nesta could barely hear her over the buzzing in her ears, and she reached over to pour herself a glass of water to give her hands something to do. She prayed no one noticed them shaking.

After what felt an eternity, Nesta felt Eris rising from his seat beside her and buttoning his expensive suit coat as he turned to the jury for his opening argument.

Despite her insistence, Eris has refused to show her what he planned to say, and Nesta found herself twisting her fingers in her lap as he began.

“This,” he said, gesturing to her. “Is Nesta Archeron. She grew up in an affluent household, the daughter of two successful lawyers. She attended a private high school which cost ten thousand dollars a year, where she was voted prom queen and most likely to succeed. During her junior year at Stanford, Nesta competed in a swimsuit competition during Greek week...and she won. Nesta went on to attend law school at Yale, and currently works at one of the most prestigious law firms in the Bay Area. She loves to wear expensive clothes and drink expensive wine, and her car costs more than most of you make in a year.”

Nesta fought not to bare her teeth at Eris as a ripple of discontent snaked through the jury. Their expressions—which had be largely neutral when Eris had began—had turned sour, and she could see them eying her expensive handbag and designer shoes with distaste.

“I’m sure by now many of you are wondering what any of that matters,” Eris paused, flashing his father a cool look before letting his eyes slide back to the jury. “It doesn’t, and that’s the point. We are here because Ms. Archeron was the victim of an abusive relationship that culminated in an assault that left her with a concussion, a bruised spleen, and six fractured ribs. That is it. From an evidential perspective, this case is very clear, and my opposing council knows that. The facts of the assault betray Mr. Mandray’s guilt, and so they will be ignored.

Instead you’ll be inundated with details about the type of undergarments Ms. Archeron wears and the sex acts she prefers and all other sort of vile details opposing council no business exposing, all of the sake of testing her nerve, and yours. Every sin Ms. Archeron has ever committed—every mistake she’s ever made—I guarantee you will hear about these next few days, and you may start to find yourself swayed by the cruel, humiliating things you hear. I only ask that when the mud begins to be fly, you stop and ask yourself why it needs to be slung at all.

As a society, we have let a culture of abuse flourish by allowing ourselves to be swayed by the salacious portraits of women their abusers like to paint. I ask today that you take the first step towards dismantling this cycle by ruling in favor of the plaintiff. Thank you.”

Nesta felt something cold thawing in her chest as Eris sank down beside her again, and a quick glance at the jury revealed far less enmity than there had been before. When the judge called Beron to speak, he only smirked, rising to his feet.

“Unlike opposing council, I will speak plainly and be brief, because unlike opposing council, my client and I have nothing to hide. Stirring as an oration as that was, it was sadly fiction. We do not deny that Ms. Archeron was beaten the evening in question, only wish to examine the so-called facts that lead to the immediate arrest of my client. I assure you we have no interest in Ms. Archeron’s undergarments or her sexual appetites. However, what we will be discussing is effect she seems to have on the men around her, including those in the SFPD and outside of it.”

Here Beron’s eyes flicked over Nesta’s head, and she had no doubt he was looking at Rowan. She could see the narrative Beron would weave forming in her mind, and she was glad for the first time all day Cash wasn’t here. She didn’t want him to hear the accusations Beron would hurl about them or be subjected to listen as Beron painted him as a brainless thug Nesta had seduced into doing her bidding.

“You knew he was going to take it here,” Eris said quietly from beside her. “Try not to validate what he’s saying by reacting.”

Nesta didn’t reply, pushing all her energy into a neutral expression as Beron laid out his supposition. She could feel some of Eris’s good work being undone as he talked, and she felt her nerve waning. She only felt safe to take a breath when Beron was once again seated. When the judge was occupied consulting the folio in front of her, Beron took the opportunity to shoot Nesta a wink that had her skin crawling.

Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, she merely sniffed and looked away, trying to steal herself for she knew what was coming next.

“Mr. Vanserra,” Judge Abrams said before sighing. “The younger,” she clarified. “Please call your first witness.”

Eris stood.“The plaintiff calls Nesta Archeron to the stand.”

Nesta rose on legs that were steadier than she expected, and she willed herself not to look at the jury as she crossed to the stand and settled behind it.   
  
“Right,” Eris said. “Miss Archeron. Let’s start at the beginning. When did you first meet Mr. Mandray?”

* * *

Nesta took a deep breath, ignoring Tomás’s stare from across the room as she smoothed her hands in her lap and began to speak.

Cash had brought his laptop to the courthouse with the intention of doing some work while he waited for court to adjourn for the day, but in the end he’d been nervous to do anything but pace and fret.

Despite his hatred for the man, Cash was reasonably confident in Eris Vanserra’s ability, but it didn’t make the waiting—the not knowing—any easier to bear. Cash knew that Nesta was due to testify first, and he hated that he couldn’t be there for her. She had her sisters, he kept assuring himself, and Rowan and Elide, but none of that was a pacifying substitute for being there himself. Despite its futility, it was a thought he couldn’t banish as the hours dragged by, so he simply sat and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It was near five o’clock when the doors finally opened, and Cash had to hold himself in check as Tomás Mandray and his lawyer—who was truly a spitting image of his son—strode through. Tomás flashed an unpleasant smile at seeing Cash, and it sent him stomach wending into knots. If Tomás was pleased, it meant things might have gone badly for Nesta.

Cash fought down a coming panic at the thought, determined to be calm for Nesta sake. She arrived several minutes later flanked by her sisters, her face pale and drawn. Ten minutes ago he’d been dying to hear how it was going, but seeing her face the desire faded, replaced by a primal need to make sure Nesta was okay.

He couldn’t decide if he’d imagined the way some of the tension in her form slackened when she spotted him, and on a day like today, it wasn’t something he let himself consider.

Instead he stood still, waiting for her to approach, to show him what she needed.

“Do you mind driving home?” She asked in greeting, extending her keys and casually avoiding his gaze now that they were closer.

“Of course,” he said, accepting them as he traded a look with Elain.

She gave him a short nod that made him feel slightly better. Perhaps it had gone alright after all, and Mandray was too much of an egotistical prick to realize. Or perhaps Elain was just putting on a brave face...

Cash tried to avoid speculating as they drove back to Nesta’s townhouse, Feyre and Elain in the back and Nesta in the front, her arms curled tightly around herself as she stared straight ahead. The silence was stifling, but Cash told himself that for Nesta, he would gladly bear it. For her, he would gladly bear anything.

She still didn’t speak when Cash unlocked the door of the townhouse and held it open for her, crossing instead to the alarm system and alarming it as soon as he and her sisters were inside.

“Are you hungry?” Elain said. “I can make something.”

Nesta forced a tight smile Cash knew she’d only been able to muster for her sisters’ benefit.

“I think I’m going to take a bath and lie down,” she said, squeezing Elain’s hand before turning to Cash.

Her grey-blue eyes sparkled as she took him in, and she was so lovely it was almost painful.

“Thank you for staying today,” she said quietly. “I’m sure you were bored out of your mind.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” he replied, trying to ignore the piece of hair he desperately wanted to tuck behind her ear.

“You know I don’t mind.”

Nesta bit her lip.

“Thank you, Cash.”

“For you? Anything.”

She smiled at this, and though it was a weak, anemic thing, it made Cash’s chest feel at least a little less tight.

“I’ll see you...” She trailed off, biting her lip.

“Tomorrow,” he assured her. I’ll be here in the morning.”

She nodded, glancing down at her feet before clearing her throat.

“Goodbye then,” she said, tone somewhat formal.

He half-expected her to extend a hand for him to shake, and he was relieved when she didn’t.

“Call if you need anything,” he said, and she nodded again, offering him the same tight smile before trudging up the stairs.

He watched her shoulders sag as she rounded the corner and disappeared out of her sisters’ view, and it tugged at him so hard his chest was tight.

He cleared his throat in an effort to loosen the knot that was forming at the base of it, only to find Feyre watching him.

For a split second he thought to be embarrassed, sure she’d caught his expression and guessed what he’d been thinking. Then he saw the tears shining in her eyes, and it all faded away.

She looked every bit her nineteen fragile years as her lip began to tremble, and Cash found himself extending his arms to her.

Feyre crossed to him without hesitation, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her head in his chest. She didn’t make a sound, but he could tell she was crying from the way her shoulders shook. When Elain came to join them, folding under his other arm, he found himself bent to near-breaking.

He laid a cheek on Elain’s head, willing himself not to fall apart as both sisters cried in his arms. He wondered as he held them how many times Nesta had done the same since their parents had died, and he marveled at the courage it must have taken to always be strong for their sake.

Elain was the first to pull away, wiping her eyes as she took a shuddering breath. She brushed a hand down Feyre’s back in silent encouragement to do the same, and with a sigh the younger Archeron let go as well.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said, her natural bravura bled away to leave only a vulnerable teenager in its wake. “I—“

When it was clear she wasn’t going to finish her thought. Cash couldn’t bring himself to be silent.

“Don’t apologize. I know today must have been…tough.”

It was Elain who answered, her arm strung around her little sister.

“Beron is just—he’ll do anything to get the win. He doesn’t care what lines he has to cross to do it.”

“He claimed in his opening argument he wasn’t going to slut-shame her,” Feyre added. “But he totally did.”

Red had begun to fizz at the corner of Cash’s vision, and he found himself once again debating the merits of tracking Tomás down and beating the shit out of him. Instead he found himself saying, “I’m sorry you two had to go through that.”

“Thank you for being here,” Elain said in answer. “It means everything to us.”

He nodded before flashing them a salutatory smile to signal he was leaving, at which point Elain grabbed his wrist.

“And to Nesta,” she added quietly. “She might never be able to admit that out loud, but it’s important you know it’s true.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cash said, and both girls nodded. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

“With bagels?” Feyre said, flashing an impish smile. Her way—he was sure—of reassuring him they were alright.

“Feyre!” Elain chided. “Good Lord.”

“With bagels, if you want,” Cash promised, and Feyre’s smile widened.

“Thank you, Cash.”

“See you both tomorrow.”

As soon as the door to the townhouse closed and he heard the sound of the alarm being armed, Cash pulled out his phone to call Rowan.

“Are you free to grab a drink?” He said when his friend answered on the third ring.

“I’ve been waiting for you to call. Aely and I are at Tonga Room, you want to come meet us?”

“Oh Christ, you’re joking right?”

Tonga was a tiki bar/tourist trap/camp-tastic hellscape that Cash generally avoided like the plague, and it was also the last place he felt like being after the day they’d all had.

“Don’t be a sour pickle,” a familiar female voice echoed from the background. “We’ll have a drink waiting for you.”

Cash sighed, knowing that an argument with Aelin was an exercise in futility.

“On my way,” he told Rowan.

“See you soon, brother,” Rowan said, and hung up.

Traffic was relatively light getting into North Beach, and soon enough he was striding through the lobby of the Fairmount Hotel and through the carved entrance of Tonga.

“Inside, near the back,”came the text from Rowan, and Cash was at least glad they wouldn’t be subjected to the patio.

If he had to sit through one of Tonga’s cheesy fake thunderstorms, he wasn’t sure he’d make it.

Weaving through the tables and under the Polynesian pahi canoe that was suspended from the ceiling, Cash spotted a pair of bronze legs peaking from one of the back booths and rolled his eyes.

Coming around the bend, Cash found Aelin perched in Rowan’s lap, her fingers combing through the longer pieces of hair on top as they spoke in low tones.

“Enough,” Cash said in greeting, tapping Aelin’s muscular thigh to get her attention.

“Oh hello, you,” she said, slithering from Rowan’s lap to her feet and extending her arms. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Her enormous emerald solitaire—the one Rowan had suffered a year moonlighting as club security to afford—sparkled in the lulling light, a compliment to her golden skin and cornsilk hair.

“Don’t just ogle me,” Aelin said, wiggling her fingers so the diamond-studded band winked at him. “Hug me already.”

Cash laughed despite himself, stringing his arms around Aelin’s trim waist and pulling her off her feet.

He buried his face in her shoulder and she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he found himself calmed by her familiar lemon verbena scent.

“It’s good to see you, Aely,” he said when they pulled apart. “How was the tour?”

Aelin smirked, slipping back into Rowan’s lap as Cash settled across from them.

“It was great. NeNe and I took third overall. We are leaving for the Colorado Springs next week to start training for Olympic qualifiers.”

“Good for you, love.”

Aelin waved him off with a flick of her long fingers.

“Enough about my future gold medals. How are you doing?”

Cash sighed, tugging at the tie that was still loosely knotted around his neck.

“Today was agony. The not knowing—honestly it was killing me.”

Rowan nodded, pausing to take a sip of his old fashioned.

“How was it?” Cash pressed.

Rowan winced a bit, shifting Aelin in his lap as if the very question was physically uncomfortable.

“Brutal. Vanserra was as nasty as I’ve ever seen him.”

“Nesta’s sisters said he was digging into her background.”

“He got into everything,” Rowan admitted.

“What everything?”

Rowan met Cash’s gaze across the table, expression solemn but steady as ever.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Nothing could ever change my mind about her.”

Rowan sighed, tracing a tattooed finger around the rim of his glass.

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I just don’t want to end up a reluctant witness when you’re put on trial for killing Beron Vanserra.”

Part of Cash acknowledged that Rowan was right, and it was a bell he couldn’t un-ring. It had been true that nothing could ever make him think less of Nesta, but she was also very touchy about sympathy. He knew however badly she’d been bloodied by Vanserra’s cross-examination, he couldn’t coddle her for it. Still, he needed to know.

“Just tell me,” he said finally.

Rowan sighed again, considering.

“He started by asking her about her virginity, and why she hadn’t slept with her few high school boyfriends when she’d had the chance, implying saving her virginity had been a calculated move. Then he started in on her and Mandray, trying to suggest she found out he had money and decided he could be the cash cow she’d been holding out for.

Then he got into their first night together, and made her tell everyone about the special lingerie she’d bought and all the research she’d done about sex acts and blowjob techniques in an effort to please him. Beron said she’d done all of it so she could get her claws in deeper.”

“That’s so cruel,” Aelin interjected, and Cash hating himself for being relieved that she’d stopped Rowan’s recounting. “There is no way that could have possibly been working on the jury.”

“It was working better than it should have. There’s more men than women, and I think some assholes are partial to the idea all beautiful women are sirens looking to lure men under their control.”

“Oh fuck that,” Aelin snarled, rolling her eyes. “That is an abuser’s narrative if ever I’ve heard it.”

“Well considering whom Vanserra’s defending,” Cash said, jaw beginning to ache from how tightly he’d been clenching his back teeth. “I can’t say I’m surprised. How did Nesta take all of it?”

“Better than I honestly would have thought possible, given the circumstances. I don’t think I could have done what she did.”

“And what was that?” Aelin asked.

“Kept her composure. You could see it was wearing on her, but she never did give Beron the opening he was clearly looking for. I give her a lot of credit for that.”

“And Eris?” Cash asked.

Aelin mimed a gag as Rowan said, “He was as good as I’ve ever seen him, too. I know we all hate him, but Nesta made the right choice hiring him. He knows how to get under Beron’s skin, and he was doing a good job of it today.”

Cash let out a stale breath, shoulders falling from where he’d kept them pinned.

“I—“ he exhaled another long breath. “Thank God.”

Aelin pushed Cash’s promised drink to him in response, and after he’d taken a sip he glanced up to find her studying him.

He felt his throat going dry as she continued her scrutiny. Like Nesta and her friend Manon, Cash had long-suspected Aelin to be some sort of powerful sorceress, one who seemed to have the innate ability to look at you and know exactly what you were thinking.

“What?” He snapped, nerves beginning to fray as she rested a cheek in her palm, eyes the same azure blue as Caribbean waters from which her maternal family hailed.

“After the trial, are you going to tell her?”

“What?” Cash repeated, trying to buy himself some time for what was clearly coming next.

“Nesta,” Aelin said, tone matter-of-fact. ”After the trial, are you going to tell her you’re in love with her?”

“I—”

“ _Oye_ ,” Aelin said, finger now in his face. “Don’t even think about denying it. You know better than to lie to a Cuban woman.”

A glance at Rowan told Cash his friend would be of little help.

“She’s got a point, brother.”

Cash sagged.

“I can’t,” he said, resigned. “After everything she’s been through, I can’t put that on her.”

“Put what on her, exactly?”

“She doesn’t want me, not like that.”

Aelin pursed her lips.

“Seems fake, but okay.”

“I’m serious. She just got out of a six-year abusive relationship. I’m not going to ruin our friendship by pressing for something I know she’s not ready for.”

“I’m not saying ask her to marry you,” Aelin said. “But she also deserves to know the truth. You don’t get to decide how she feels.”

“I don’t want her to think that everything I’ve done was just to get in her pants.”

“She isn’t going to think that,” Aelin said. “And to be honest, I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit.”

“No offense, Aely, but how would you know? You’ve never even met her.”

Cash watched something dark shade her glittering gaze, and suddenly he could see the specters of her own past shining in those bright eyes. He’d never met her first fiancée, but he knew she carried his untimely death with her even now.

“Because we get to choose what breaks us. You’re right that I’ve never met Nesta, but I know a kindred spirit when I see one.”

“Also, she’s wicked smart,” Rowan pointed out. “So sooner or later she’s going to figure it out anyways, and then you’re look like a jackass for not saying anything sooner.”

“Or a creep,” Aelin added helpfully, meeting Cash’s flat look with a smirk.

“It’s true! I get you don’t want to ‘lose’ her, but the truth is that she isn’t something that can be lost. She’s a person with her own agency, and she has the right to know you’re interested.”

“Also you haven’t seen some of the looks she gives you when you’re not looking,” Rowan said. “She’s always looking at your ass like she wants to take a bite.”

Aelin gave a laugh, the sound once again bright and unburdened.

“I don’t blame her. If I wasn’t taken, I would definitely—”

“Aelin,” Rowan said, rolling his eyes. “Do you mind?”

“No,” she said, twisting in his lap to grin at him. “Do you?”

“Obviously!”

“No you don’t,” Aelin said, brushing a finger across the corner of Rowan’s mouth, which had begun curling up in an inevitable smile. “You know I could have had any of your boys at that tournament, and you’re still smug I chose you.”

“Hey!” Cash said. “No you couldn’t have!”

Strictly speaking, it was a somewhat revisonist take on their shared history. He could still remember his mouth going dry the first time he’d seen Aelin strut onto the volleyball court that tiny burnt-orange bikini, and though it was sentiment that had long since faded, Aelin still loved rubbing that initial interest in his face at every opportunity.

“Oh darling, don’t embarrass yourself. Yes I could have.”

“What about Lor?” Cash pointed out.

Aelin gagged.

“As if anyone could ever want that sour pickle.”

This made Cash smile despite everything. However, he felt his levity fading as Rowan’s expression once again grew more serious.

“How are the sisters holding up? This can’t be easy for them, either.”

Cash’s chest grew tight at the memory of Feyre crying into his arms, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak.

“They are trying to put on a brave face for Nesta, but I know they are struggling.”

“I can’t imagine listening to someone tearing apart my sister’s sex life,” Aelin said. “It would be awful.”

“Nesta’s been their primary guardian for ten years, and I don’t think they are used to seeing her be vulnerable. Still, I’m glad she has them. They’ve really stepped up since the assault.”

“She’s lucky to have you too, you know,” Aelin said, reaching across the table to squeeze Cash’s hand. “We all are.”

Cash found himself blushing a little, and Aelin smiled.

“For a hot guy with a big mouth and lots of swagger, you are so bashful. It’s adorable.”

“Adorable,” Cash repeated, taking a large swallow of drink. “Teenage Cash would be thrilled to hear that’s how women see us in our thirties.”

Aelin laughed, pressing her hands over Rowan’s ears and adding with a wicked grin.

“You’re devastatingly sexy and we both know it.”

“I don’t even know why you bother with that,” Rowan said dryly, peeling her hands away from his face. “You have the loudest voice of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Don’t be hetero-normative and pretend you don’t agree.”

“I—“ Rowan broke, knowing she’d caught him in a trap before sighing. “Yes, extremely devastating.”

Aelin grinned her triumph.

“I bet Nesta thinks so,” she said. “When do I get to meet her, Cashew?”

Cash pursed his lips.

“I’ll invite you to the wedding,” he deadpanned.

“You’re just afraid they’ll become best friends and gang up on you,” Rowan observed.

“That’sexactly what I’m afraid of.”

At this, Aelin’s smile went sleepy slightly wicked.

“Bueno,” she purred. “I’m glad we’re all on the same page then.”

“You're a nightmare, Galathynius.”

“Yes, but I’m your nightmare, and doesn’t that make all the difference?”

“No point in fighting with her, brother,” Rowan said, affectionately tucking a strand of Aelin’s hair behind her slightly-elven ear. “You know you’ll never win.”

Aelin smiled at that, leaning in to brush her nose affectionately against Rowan’s cheek.

“I’ve trained you well,” she said, and Rowan flashed a rare smile, leaning in to kiss her.

“Oh enough,” Cash said, dipping his fingers in his untouched water glass to flick at them.

Normally, seeing them together didn’t faze him. In fact, it made him happy to see his oldest friend so happy. Today, however, he found he couldn’t quite master his jealousy.

It was true he’d been single for a long time by his own design, but since moving back to the States he’d developed a keen sense of longing for what Aelin and Rowan had.

He wasn’t so blind as to pretend he didn’t know what had prompted the change.

Maybe Aelin was right; maybe he ought to tell Nesta how he felt. Telling her didn’t constitute an obligation on her part, but not telling her was beginning to feel like an outright lie, and one he hated keeping from her.

After the trial, he promised himself. After the trial was over, Cash would tell Nesta how he felt about her. He could only hope it didn’t ruin things forever.

* * *

Cash’s heart was still in his throat when closing arguments began around noon the fourth day of the trial, a heady cocktail of irritation and nerves still coursing through him from the cross-examination he’d just faced from Beron Vanserra.

In retrospect, Eris had done a reasonable job in prepping Cash, and nothing Beron said had come as a complete surprise. Eris had warned that since Beron couldn’t reasonably deny Nesta had been beaten, he’d need to find a different suspect to present the jury. Still, it was one thing to be told you’d likely be accused of fabricating an assault, it was another to hear the accusation hurled aloud.

Cash could see from Beron’s questions why he’d be so successful defending the guilty; he had a way of inverting the facts until they framed a completely different narrative than the one Cash knew to be true.

He’d had to fight keep his composure the same way he’d been told Nesta had, trying to let the accusation that he’d attacked Nesta at her own instruction in order to frame Tomás filter through him without finding its mark.

Still, it was hard not to react to the picture Beron painted for the jury as he remarked at Cash’s size and his relationship with Rowan, the arresting officer on the scene. Cash watched their face’s turn serious as Beron expounded on the expensive wine Cash had gifted Nesta on more than one occasion, and the fact they’d been out with together the evening of the attack.

Suddenly all the good work Cash had felt he’d done in his testimony for the plaintiff felt as if it were unraveling, and nausea churned in his gut as he fretted that far from helping Nesta, he’d just ruined things for her.

It was a fear that plagued him all through closing arguments, and he was only vaguely aware as Eris laid out the facts illustrating Tomás’s abuse and urged the jury to rule in Nesta’s favor.

Beron was glib as ever when he rose to speak, rehashing the tightly-woven narrative in which Nesta had seduced Tomás, preyed on the lifestyle he provided her, and finally enlisted outside help when she was ready to discard of him. It was compelling in its own sick way, and Cash had to remind himself to breathe as Beron flashed Nesta a haughty smirk on his way back to the defendant’s table.

Cash watched as the jury rose on silent feet and filed out, trying to read each of their expressions as they disappeared to begin deliberating. It was a maddening exercise in futility, and he gave up after one of jurors—an older African American woman in her fifties, gave him a disapproving scowl for staring.

It was then he turned his attention to Nesta instead. She was pale as a ghost, but still carried herself like a queen, her back straight and chin held high.

“Ladies,” Eris said, loosening his tie as he casually outpaced them and headed for the front door. “A pleasure as always. Let’s not wait for the next lawsuit to do it again.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Elain said.

Eris turned to give her a honeyed smile.

“The gym. The jury won’t be back for hours yet, if they even return today at all.”

Elain bit her lower lip, clearly unsettled by his leaving when the jury was still deliberating.

It was unfortunately all the opening Eris needed. He raised his eyebrows, amber gaze alight as he studied Elain with undisguised interest.

“Feel free to join me, if you like.”

Cash felt a protectiveness surging at the way color rushed into Elain’s cheeks, but as always, Nesta beat him to the punch.

“Fuck off, Eris. I can still fire you.”

At this, his smile only grew, as he turned and began walking backwards lazily so he could keep Nesta in his sights. He wasn’t as stupid as he looked, then.

“Actually, per our contract, you can’t now that jury deliberations have started. Nice try, though.”

“You’re despicable,” Elain bit out, and Eris only chuckled, the sound full of sensual promise that had Elain’s flush deepening.

“That’s what you love about me, Gorgeous. Archeron,” he said to Nesta, “Call if you need anything.”

Before Nesta could unleash on him, he turned and disappeared through the front door.

“What a prick,” Feyre muttered.

“He served his purpose,” Nesta said tightly. “I just hope it was worth it.”

“It will be,” Elain said, hastily trying to recover from her fluster. “Don’t worry about him.”

“What now?” Feyre said, and Nesta offered a flash of teeth that barely constituted as a grimace, let alone a smile.

“We wait.”

At this, she turned to Cash.

“I don’t suppose you know where we could get a halfway decent glass of wine, do you? I know it’s only noon, but I think I deserve a glass after today.”

Cash laughed, needing to reward her attempt at levity—however tepid—when she was clearly hanging on by a thread.

“We can swing by the Merchant on the way back to your place. I have something new from Argentina you’re going to love.”

Nesta’s next smile was less strained.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Happy to put a wager on it,” Cash said. “I’ve been wondering when your birthday is. You definitely strike me as a Scorpio, but—”

Cash felt a familiar thrill coursing through him as Nesta flashed the best estimation ofDisney Villainess he knew she could muster at the moment. He admired her for having the strength to muster it at all.

“Don’t push it,” she said, handing him her keys and brushing past him. “Let’s go.”

Despite their banter outside the courtroom, the drive to North Beach was quiet, and Cash could feel Nesta struggling not to break down.

Risking her displeasure he finally said in quiet voice, “you can, if you want to.”

“Can what?” she said, staring straight ahead as she splayed a hand against her chest to steady herself.

“Cry.”

Nesta shifted in her seat, lips pursed, and he worried he’d upset her when she clipped, “no, I can’t.”

“We won’t judge you for it,” Elain added.

There was a longer enough pause that Cash was sure Nesta wasn’t going to answer before she said quietly, “I’m afraid if I start that I’ll never stop.”

“We wouldn’t judge you for that, either,” Feyre said in a voice just as soft.

Nesta cleared her throat, voice thin as she spoke again.

“Thank you.”

They lapsed into silence again after that, and they were just pulling up to Merchant when Nesta’s phone began ringing through the car.

She glanced at her phone before answering, letting Eris’s voice filter in.

“The jury’s back.”

“Already?” Nesta said, face going pale again. “It’s been less than an hour.”

“I know,” Eris said. “Fuck. Where are you?”

“We’re just got to North Beach,” Nesta said. “We’ll meet you back there in twenty.”

Eris only swore again before hanging up, and Cash watched Nesta’s hands tremble as she turned the phone over and over in her hands

“What’s wrong?” he asked, gently reach over to stop her fretting as he maneuvered the car onto The Embarcadero and back towards the courthouse.

“A deliberation this short in a civil domestic assault case typically means a ruling in favor of the defendant.”

His heart sank so deep enough into his stomach that he felt ill, castigating himself once again about his testimony. He should have done more, should have explained better—

They all sat in unbearable silence as he sped back to the courthouse.

Nesta was already out of the car by the time Cash had the key out of the ignition, striding towards where Eris stood dressed in a fresh heather grey suit, his copper hair still wet from a recent shower.

“Are you ready?” he said in greeting, holding open the door for her. “This could get ugly.”

Cash couldn’t help the snarl that ripped out at that, but Nesta only grit her teeth, determination shining in her eyes.

“I can handle it. Is Elide Lochan here?”

“She is. If this doesn’t go—” Eris broke off, the tang of defeat clearly bitter in his mouth. “Either way, we gave her the all the ammo she could possibly need. She’s going to rake Mandray across the coals in crim court.”

Nesta took a shuddering breath before nodding and turning to Cash and her sisters.

“Thank you, for standing by me through this. Whatever happens now—I appreciate it.”

Feyre and Elain rushed to hug her then, and Cash could see the muscles in Nesta’s arms shift as she held them both tightly.

“It’s not over yet,” Feyre said as they pulled away. “And we’re with you to whatever end.”

“It’s time,” Eris said, nodding to the bailiff to open the doors as he pressed a soft hand to Nesta’s back, ushering to the table.

Cash felt his heart crawling into his throat as the judge appeared and summoned the jury, sick with adrenaline as Nesta squared her shoulders to face the foreman as he approached, verdict in hand.

“In the case of Archeron v. Mandray, we find in favor of the plaintiff—”

All of the sound was sucked from the room as Cash’s awareness narrowed to Nesta just in time to see her collapse sideways into Eris. Cash couldn’t find it in himself to even be jealous as Eris folded her into his embrace and spoke in her ear as she began to sob, face buried in his chest.

They’d won. She’d won. He knew Nesta was still fragile in so many ways from what she’d endured, but he couldn’t begin to unravel how proud he was of the way she’d refused to let the darkness and fear win out.

What Aelin had said to him came rushing back with overwhelming force, and he felt his admiration and desire for Nesta twining around him like a gale-force wind.

When Cash finally came back to himself, it was to find that Elain and Feyre had joined Nesta at the plaintiff’s table, both crying as they hugged her. This seemed to have settled Nesta, and he watched as she turned to the defendant’s table where Tomás sat, looking slightly dazed.

At feeling her stare he glanced up, and the look Nesta gave him—even through the tears still shining in her ocean blue eyes—was cold enough to burn. Cash felt satisfaction clanging through him as Tomás paled slightly under her scrutiny, the bravura he’d displayed at the beginning of the trial bled away by the defeat.

Beron, on the other hand, looked furious, much to Eris’s delight. The younger Vanserra raised his eyebrows and gave a vulpine grin.

“Good game, Dad. Better luck next time?”

Beron’s lip curled.

“Don’t be get cocky,” he sneered. “You didn’t win this case, Archeron’s legs did. If half the jury hadn’t wanted to fuck her, you wouldn’t—“

“Watch your mouth, counselor. I’m not above reporting you for a conduct violation.”

They all turned to see who’d spoken, and Cash found Elide Lochan standing there, arms crossed. Despite being barely over five feet, there was an aura about her that warned she ought not to be fucked with, and it was palpable.

“Miss Lochan,” Beron grit out.

“Ms.,” she corrected archly. I came to tell you Judge Havillard set a date. See you in three weeks, Vanserra.”

She nodded to Nesta before flashing Beron a cool look and striding away.

Beron’s mouth tightened, and he turned to give Elide’s glossy head a hateful look as she left.

“Let’s go,” Elain prompted as Nesta continued to stare Tomás down, studying his even move as he leaned over to speak in Beron’s ear.

Beron’s expression grew nastier as he listened, glaring at Nesta as she took both her sisters’ hands, smiling at Cash as well. He jerked his head towards the door, heart buoying in his chest as he watched something tense in her uncoil.

As they headed out the door, Cash caught Beron calling Elide’s name, and he couldn’t fight the grin. Eris might have been a slimy bastard, but he’d primed Tomás to fall, and Cash would always hate him a little less for it.

Rowan was waiting in the hallway when they emerged, his face softening to a grin as he read Nesta’s more relaxed expression.

“Congratulations, Nesta.”

He held out a hand to her, and her smile warmed as she pressed forward to give him a soft hug instead.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything you did.”

“You deserved it,” he said, and Cash felt a swelling gratitude towards his friend for never making her feel like some broken doll.

He clapped Rowan on the shoulder if only for an excuse to take a step in Nesta’s direction.

“Where to now, my lady.”

“I don’t think a glass of champagne would go amiss,” she said, the echo of her Disney Villainess curling at her pouty mouth. “Rowan, would you join us?”

He tossed Cash a sly look before nodding.

“I’d be honored.”

“Meet you there,” Cash said, fishing Nesta’s keys from her pocket and offering them.

She shook her head with a small smile, and he nodded his wordless acceptance. Everything she’d suffered wouldn’t fix itself in a day, he reminded himself. Still, there was a light in her eyes he hadn’t seen in months, and it made his heart swell in his chest.

The feeling grew to near-busting when she reached for his hand on the drive, her slight squeeze telling him all the things he knew she wasn’t ready to say.

When they arrived at the Merchant, he made straight for the back, leaving the Archeron’s chatting with Rowan as he headed into the belly of the storeroom. The bottle he was looking for was keep under lock and key, and he extracted it gingerly from the cage.

It had been a gift from Rhys for his latest birthday, and had come with the caveat that Cash open it for a suitably important occasion. Looking at the distinct bottle, he could think of nothing more important than this.

He emerged to find his merry band gathered around the bar all laughing over something Feyre had said. Nesta, who’d been smiling along with the rest of them when he’d emerged, stopped when he presented the bottle to her.

“Armand de Brignac Brut Gold, made by the Cattier family in France for thirteen generations,” he said. “As racy as it is refined. Bit like you actually.”

“Cash,” she said, a slight flush coloring her cheeks as she gently pushed the bottle away. “That’s six thousand dollar champagne. You can’t open that.”

Cash only smiled, delighted by her bashfulness.

“Why? It’s a six thousand dollar day. Besides, it was a gift from Rhys. He lives for bank-rolling people’s successes.”

Nesta frowned as Cash carefully peeled the gilded foil and untwisted the bottle’s cage holding the cork in place.

“Cash, I’m serious. Do not—“

Cash gave her a grin as the tart pop of the cork cut her off.

“Oops,” he said when she glowered. “Too late.”

“You’re a shit,” she said, as he fetched a set of flutes from the rack overhead.

“And you deserve this,” he shot back. “So don’t be obstinate.”

“Rhysand can afford a thousand bottles of this stuff,” Rowan assured her. “And I agree with Cash: he’d be delighted to know this is how it was being drank.”

Nesta glanced at Elain, seeming to settle a bit as her sister gave her a look that said, “they’ve got a point.”

“Fine,” Nesta said primly, though Cash could tell it was to keep in a smile. “Just this once, then.”

Cash filled the glasses and passed them out before raising his.

“To the justice we deserve,” he said.

Nesta swallowed.

“Thank you, all of you. For staying with me, for not—“

She broke off, glancing down for a second, and Feyre put a soft hand on her back.

“To Nesta,” Elain said into the ensuing silence. “The baddest bitch in the world.”

Rowan’s phone dinged as the all touched glasses, and before they take a sip he added, “And the justice we can get. That was Elide; Mandray pleaded out. Seven years for the assault without time served, and immediate deportation upon his release.”

Nesta immediately covered her eyes with her free hand, the first sob Cash had heard from her since the trial began bursting free as she folded into her sisters, who were immediately at her side.

“It’s over,” Elain said, hugging Nesta around the neck as the latter continued to sob her relief. “You don’t have to testify again. Tomás is going to prison.”

“Thanks to you,” Feyre said. “You did that, Nes.”

Nesta let out a steadying breath as she nodded, raising her glass we again.

“To six thousand dollars days.”

“Here, here,” Cash said, touching his glass to hers and watching as she took a sip, delight spilling all over her face.

“Wow,” Feyre said, interrupting his reverie as she studied her glass in appreciation. “I really hope I marry riche.”

“I forbid you to even consider marriage until you’re thirty,” Nesta said, and Cash laughed even as Feyre rolled her eyes.

It almost slipped out then, even with her sisters sitting there Rowan pretending he wasn’t watching Cash. He wasn’t sure if it was possible to truly love someone if they didn’t feel the same, if that made it an infatuation more insidious than it was inspiring.

Still, when Nesta turned to smile at him, blue eyes glittering the cobalt blue of a sky just beginning to darken with a storm, he couldn’t help it. He was madly in love with her, and someday soon he’d have to tell her.

But not yet, he told himself. Not when her hard-fought freedom was so new, and she was still adjusting to the notion that she was safe again. After Tomás left for prison, after she settled a little more into her old life—or what was left of it—he’d tell her.

Until then...

He watched as she laughed at something Elain said, refilling all of their glasses.

Until then, he’d simply enjoy the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: If you are the victim or survivor of domestic abuse or are afraid you might be, please explore your resources as you’re able. You can visit the domestic abuse website at thehotline.org for resources or call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 to chat with an advocate. Always put your safety first and know that you are loved and worthy. <3


	7. Domaine du Pegau

Nesta growled.

“We’ve been on the road for almost two hours; just tell me where we’re going already.”

Cash—who was driving—only grinned, his teeth bright against his bronze skin. It used to annoy Nesta how handsome he was, and how his smile made her stomach flop.

These days, it...didn’t anymore.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise!”

Nesta pursed his lips.

“I hate surprises.”

Cash rolled his eyes, though he was still smiling.

“Well I, for one, am shocked by this revelation.”

In lieu of responding Nesta jabbed him in the ribs with a finger, hitting a spot she knew made him ticklish. Cash batted at her with one hand still on the wheel, and soon she was mock-wrestling with his free hand, trying to get past his defenses to poke him again.

“Quit it!” He said, laughing as he caught her wrist.

She didn’t fight him as he intertwined their fingers and rested their joined hands on the gearshift, though neither did she comment. She simply let herself relax into the casual intimacy of his thumb softly tracing a path back and forth across her knuckles.

“Tell me where we’re going,” she ventured again after a minute or two of contented silence.

Cash gave her hand a little squeeze.

“If I said sushi, would you believe me?”

Nesta gave him a withering look that only served to make him laugh again.

“No.”

“In that case, prepare to feel very sheepish.”

She narrowed her eyes. She’d known Cash long enough now to understand his tricks.

“Okay, then where are we going _before_ sushi?”

He grinned.

“You’ll see.”

“You’re impossible,” she said.

“And you love it,” he shot back, batting her away as she extricated her hand from his and attempted to flick his nose. “Don’t be such a birthday brat.”

“I hate birthdays,” Nesta sniffed. “And technically mine isn’t until tomorrow, anyways.”

“Of course you do, my little grinch. And don’t be a nitpicker; I promise you’ll change your mind when we get there.”

“And where is ‘there’, again?”

“Patience, Archeron!” He said, and this time it was his turn to poke her. “Good lord.”

Nesta glanced out the window, gauging the mountainous California countryside that steaked by as they raced down the 101.

“We left San Francisco at nine am and you said we’re going to sushi for dinner—”

“I never said dinner!” He protested. “For all you know, I could be taking you to an all-you-can-eat lunch buffet.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He laughed.

“Good point. Go on.”

Nesta soldiered on as if he’d never interrupted.

“Assuming that most nice sushi places don’t open until dinner service starts at five, we must be going somewhere suitably far away to leave so early.”

Nesta did the math in her head.

“We’re going to LA.”

Cash gave a mock groan.

“I knew I should have taken a weird route.”

“Why are we going all the way to LA for dinner? There is plenty of good seafood in San Francisco.”

“We’re aren’t going for the sushi, though it is going to be amazing—”

“Nobu, then?” Nesta cut in.

“Goddamnit, woman!” Cash laughed. “Can’t you turn off your deductive superpowers for one day?”

“It’s a great choice, if you’re going to drag you all the way down to LA. The only choice, really.”

“Well I’m glad I got something right,” Cash said, giving her a playful jab this time. “Though when you see where we go before dinner, I think you’ll be very pleasantly surprised—”

“The Getty? I’ve been.”

“Nope.”

“Hollywood Bowl.”

“What are we, tourists? Obviously not.”

“Griffith Observatory—”

“Stop guessing,” Cash said, smiling. “You’ll never figure it out. And Griffith Observatory? Why would I take you stargazing in the middle of the day?”

“I have no idea why you do the things you do, Cash,” she said, settling back in her seat. If they were going to LA, they still had almost four hours on the road. “It’s one of the most intriguing things about you.”

“Oh yeah?” Cash said, the grin he flashed her sleepy and slightly wicked. “And what else do you find intriguing about me? Don’t be afraid to get specific, no detail is too small.”

Nesta fended off all the things that came—unbidden—to mind. His infectious smile, of course, and his gorgeous hair, which he’s scraped half up into a bun that she could no longer deny suited him.

And then there was his laugh, and his kindness, and the witty retorts he wasn’t afraid to dish back to her if she got defensive and too sharp. More than any of that was his way of seeing the world, as if anything was possible. Even for a cynic like Nesta, it was impossible not to be moved by his optimism and good humor.

“Fantasizing about me?” He said, drawing her from the train of thought she refused to consider a ‘fantasy’.”

She sniffed.

“Just imagining what Keith Morrison would title our episode of Dateline were you to try and kidnap me.”

Cash sputtered.

“ _Kidnap_ you? Christ Almighty, Nesta!”

“I say ‘try’,” Nesta continued, flashing him a wicked smirk. “Because I’d obviously get the drop on you first. By the time the cops showed up, you’d already be in cuffs.”

“Cuffs, huh? Now you’re got my attention.”

She huffed in amusement as they lapsed into casual silence. Nesta wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was, about Tomás and the assault. It was hard to believe that had only been eight months ago. Some days it felt like it had just happened, and she woke screaming as she fought off the spectre of his hands around her throat. On days like today, it felt like little more than a bad dream.

Maybe it was because it was her birthday, she mused, or because it was a beautiful, sunny California day, the kind that made all your cares seem inconsequential. Or maybe it was Cash, and the way he made her feel safe in a way she hadn’t since her parents were killed.

“Now what are you thinking about?” He asked, though his gentled tone seemed to suggest he already knew.

“Santa Monica Pier,” she said in answer, and he rolled his eyes.

“Give it up already, Archeron. You’ll never guess in a million years.”

“Korean Bell of—”

“Nesta Flaviana Archeron, so help me God, I will turn this car around.”

“Okay, Dad,” she said, rolling her eyes.

She only realized the opening she’d given him when he flashed her a sinful smile; the kind—Nesta was sure—had dropped more than a few pairs of panties in its day.

“Kinky roleplay? Now we’re getting somewhere, sweetheart.”

She mimed a gag, though the look he was giving sent a pleasant tingle down her spine.

“Don’t be gross,” she sniped. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

He gave a sniff of haughty derision she was sure was meant to be an imitation of her.

“I’ll take my opportunities as they arise and I—“

“—shan’t apologize for it,” she finished. “Yes, so I’ve been told. How much longer until we get to this Shangri-La of yours?”

In reality, it took another five hours after they hit LA traffic coming into the Valley, though Nesta found the time slipping effortlessly by as they bickered over which podcast they should listen to before discussing everything from politics to travel to Feyre’s new boyfriend, a feckless philosophy major named Isaac who Nesta couldn’t stand.

“Of course you can’t stand him,” Cash said as he navigated to the West side. “You’ll never like any of your sister’s boyfriends, and that’s a fact.”

Nesta huffed but offered no retort beyond that, which made Cash laugh.

“Exactly,” he said.

Eventually they turned onto a quiet street, and Nesta studied the industrial-building-come-trendy-apartment as they pulled up to a wrought-iron gate surrounding the property and Cash typed in a code on the security system’s keypad.

After a minute the mic beeped to signify the call had been answered.

“Hey, it’s Cash.”

A cool voice—smokey and deep—answered.

“Cash who?”

“Ha-ha, cashew; so clever. Just open the gate, dick.”

Nesta bit her lip to keep in a smile.

“Was that—”

Cash grinned as the gate opened and he pulled inside.

“I told you that you’d never guess.”

Nesta’s mirth immediately faded as she felt herself going on the defensive. If they were here, it likely meant— _ugh,_ she should have known Cash would try and pull an ostentatious stunt like this.

“Cash,” she said through slightly-gritted teeth. “I can’t let you buy me an expensive piece of furniture.”

“Who said anything about ‘buy’?” He said, parking the jeep and pressing a gentle hand to the small of her back. “Let’s go.”

“Fine, then I can’t let you—”

“Will you relax, birthday girl? There was...little to no purchasing involved.”

“I—”

He turned, grinning at her as he walked backwards towards what looked like the garage.

“Would you feel better if I said there is no gift, and I just brought you here so you could finally meet my best friend?”

“Yes,” she admitted, not sure what to do with the bright feeling the idea inspired.

As much of her life as she’d shared of her life with Cash, there was still so much she longed to learn about his.

“Perfect!” Cash clapped his hands together. “Then I just brought you here so you could finally meet my best friend.”

“So there isn’t actually a gift?”

Nesta felt herself relax, though the feeling only lasted until she caught sight of Cash’s face.

“Of course there is. But you felt better for a second, didn’t you?”

“You are absolutely—”

“Your favorite? Yes, I know. No need to be obsequious about it.”

At her bemused expression, he grinned.

“I write down all the big words you use and look them up later. I think my vocabulary has tripled since I met you. C’mon.”

He took her hand and led her through the garage and past a car under a heavy canvas covering. Cash noted her interest and smiled.

“You love expensive things, I feel like you’ll appreciate this.”

Before Nesta could object to that rather unsavory observation, Cash pulled back the cover to reveal a sports car painted a striking tangerine orange.

“Lamborghini Aventador,” Cash explained, watching as Nesta ran a hand along the line of the car’s perfectly angular body. “The color is called ‘Arancio Atlas’. V12 engine, zero to one hundred in 6.4 seconds. Pound-for-pound, this is the best-performing sports car money can buy. We call this beauty the FUD.”

“The FUD?”

It seemed a less than impressive nickname for so gorgeous a car.

Cash flashed a sardonic smile.

“The ‘Fuck You Dad,’” he explained. “Az’s dad was—”

“—A huge prick,” a voice finished, and Nesta yanked her hand away as a tall, well-built figure emerged from the shadows, smiling faintly. “Still is, last time I checked.”

Cash grinned as his friend approached, and despite herself, Nesta had to fight off a nervous exhale.

Where Cash was winsome and roguishly good-looking, Azriel Macar was the sort of fairytale-handsome best suited to the pages of a tween fantasy novel. His glossy dark hair was styled away from his face in a well-manicured undercut, the blue-black hue setting off the copper in his smooth skin and the green in his hazel eyes. Despite their light color, the way their slender shape tapered up slightly at the corners made Nesta think that one of his parents—or perhaps grandparents—may have been Native American.

If Elain were here, she’d have fainted to the floor by now. She loved sharp cheekbones and tattoos on guys, and Azriel Macar had both in spades. Like Cash, Azriel had a sleeve running down his left arm, though where Cash’s were made up of only black lines, Azriel’s had strategically placed splashes of color that accentuated the striking geometric pattern. Nesta wondered if he'd designed them himself.

Azriel gave her a soft, almost bashful smile as he approached, offering her his hand.

“I’m Azriel,” he said.

“Nesta,” she said, surprised to find herself anxious to make a good impression.

Azriel’s smile grew a fraction more relaxed.

“It’s good to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You can't say that to people,” Cash said, eyes widening in a silent warning to his friend that trilled pleasantly through Nesta. What had Azriel heard about her that Cash didn’t want repeated?

Azriel, for his part, merely shrugged.

“You can if it’s true.” At this he turned to Nesta. “Cash literally never stops talking about you. I think our friend Rhys may be in love with you from the stories alone.”

Nesta smirked, the warmth in her chest growing as she said, “Unfortunately for him, I’ve been forewarned.”

Azriel gave an approving nod, the corners of his mouth tugging up slightly.

“Smart girl.”

Nesta fought not to preen. She’s never considered herself a person particularly adept at making a good impression on strangers, and it felt good to imagine she’d earned Azriel’s approval.

“It’s good to meet you as well,” she said. “And can I just say, your work is beautiful. That table you made for the tasting room at The Merchant is a piece of art.”

Azriel’s cheeks went pink and Cash added, “Nesta nearly swooned the first time she saw it.”

She punched him in the arm, but Azriel merely smiled.

“Thank you, that—” he touched the back of his neck. “It means a lot to me. Also, ignore Cash; he’s just jealous he has no discernible skills of his own.”

Cash threw up his hands in exasperation.

“I’m literally a classically-trained sommelier?”

“Please,” Azriel said breezily. “Anyone can drink wine.”

“There are only 229 Master Somms the world!”

Azriel only raised a skeptical brow.

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

When Cash rolled his eyes Azriel seemed to relax, smile growing enough to reveal his beautifully straight teeth.

“It’s good to see you, brother,” he said, making Cash grin as well.

“I would say the same, but after that I’m not so sure.”

“You are such a drama queen,” Azriel said.

“You mean drama king?” Cash ventured.

“Queen,” Azriel and Nesta echoed at the same time, making Azriel laugh softly.

“See, Nesta gets it.”

It was a sound that—a year ago—might have made even Nesta’s knees go a bit weak. Now, she just found herself glad this was going as well as it was.

“Happy birthday, by the way,” Azriel said. “You’re handling it remarkably well considering the fuss Cash likes to make.”

“You too?” Nesta said, and Azriel gave a soft wince as Cash grinned fiendishly.

“For Az’s twenty-fifth Rhys and I kidnapped him and took him to Ibiza.”

Azriel shuddered, and Nesta didn’t think it was entirely for show.

“I hate clubbing. Always so much fake smoke and glitter.”

“See,” Nesta said with a smirk. “Azriel gets it.”

“What have I done, introducing you two?”

“Nothing that can be undone now,” Azriel said. “Come to the workshop; I actually just finished, and I can’t wait for you to see it.”

Nesta felt a twinge of unease at the idea of a gift, but she didn’t know how to voice her objection without offending Azriel and decided to stay silent instead.

Cash gingerly pulled the cover over the FUD again before offering Nesta a hand as they followed Azriel. For a moment she wondered if she should take it before realizing it didn’t matter. All that did matter was that she wanted to.

So she let him intertwine their fingers as they followed Azriel through a glass hallway that connected the garage to the rest of the house and, presumably, his studio. It was a gorgeously-appointed space, exactly what she would have expected from a designer of his caliber.

Cash offered casual observations as they walked, pointing out the set of original Picasso sketches Rhys had gifted Azriel after he’d made his first major sale and a beautiful Eames lounger, which Az had evidently sworn no one would be allowed to sit in when he’d first bought it. There was currently a squash-faced cat asleep on the chair’s accompanying ottoman.

“Beans,” Azriel snarled, gently tipping the cat off the ottoman with a nudge of his work boot. “The Eames is a piece of living art. Have some respect.”

Beans’s only reaction was a disinterested snarl of his own.

“I didn’t imagine you as a pet owner,” Nesta admitted as Azriel’s shooed the cat out of the den and into the open-plan kitchen.

“Beans isn’t my cat,” Azriel said immediately. At seeing Nesta’s bemused expression he went on, “I made the mistake of feeding him once like a year ago, and somehow he lives here now. Believe me, I would get rid of him if I thought I could.”

Cash bubbled his lips.

“No you wouldn’t, you big softie. You love that evil furball.”

Azriel rubbed the back of his neck as he huffed a sheepish laugh.

“He doesn’t like it when there are strangers in the house for too long. He gets grouchy and it—scares people.”

Before Nesta could feel awkward that she was going to upset Azriel Macar’s cat, Cash grinned.

“He doesn’t like when women spend the night, you mean. Maybe it’s all the noise that upsets him. You always seem to go for the screamers.”

Azriel’s cheeks flushed.

“No, I _don’t_ —” he broke off, huffing. “If you report any of this back to Mor, I will kill you.”  
  


“Why? If she knew you were getting laid, she might get off your back about meeting someone.”

Azriel’s blush went impossibly deeper, and he tossed Nesta a quick, urgent glance. She wasn’t sure if it had been a plea for help or a gauge to determine how she was interpreting this new information.

Deciding to take pity she chimed in, “Cash is probably just trying to live through you. He hadn’t gotten any in months.”

Cash’s grin grew wolfish as his gaze swiveled to rest on her instead.

“And how would you know?”

His tone was low and honeyed, and had she been a lesser, more malleable creature, Nesta’s knees may have gone weak. Instead, she crossed her arms and flashed him a sardonic smile.

“I know all.”

“I’ll try not to be flattered by the idea you’re keeping tabs on my sex life,” he crooned. “No promises, though.”

Nesta savagely fought off the desire to push the issue, chiding herself for her almost-pathological need to prove she was right. Besides, if she felt like being honest with herself, that wasn’t the only or even the main reason she wanted to hear the answer. In the end, it was only the fear of hearing an answer she didn’t like that held her back from asking. Instead she rolled her eyes.

“Enough about my nonexistent love life,” Cash said, offering Nesta a hand down the several steps into the studio before sliding behind her to cover her eyes. “It’s showtime.”

With a gentle hand at her back Cash ushered her forward, and she listened to the sound of a sheet being pulled off as Cash squeezed her free hand once.

“Are you ready?” He said, leaning in so his breath brushed her ear.

Nesta fended off a pleasurable shudder.

“Yes,” she said. “The sooner I can see how beautiful and expensive it is, the sooner I can start working through my—”

Cash dropped his hand from her eyes, and she felt the retort curling up like burnt paper on her tongue as she took in the piece of furniture prominently displayed on the workshop pedestal. What she’d expected was one of Azriel’s original designs, modern and sleek. What she got was so much better than even that.

There, in the middle of the studio, stood her grandmother Saraiva’s walnut bookcase, the same one which had been broken during the struggle with Tomás all those months ago.

It had been masterfully reassembled, the seams where the wood had been glued back together so neat that they were impossible to spot unless you knew where to look. And the parts like the figural Atlantes columns and decorative frieze—which Tomás had made sure to destroy after the fact—were so precisely rendered and stained that they looked original to the piece.

Nesta couldn’t fight the tears which blurred in her eyes as she stepped forward to brush a hand along the polished wood. She could still picture where it had stood in her grandparent’s house in Braga, its shelves filled with classics her av[ô](https://www.wordhippo.com/what-is/the-meaning-of/portuguese-word-vovo.html) had taught as a professor of antiquities in Coimbra before his retirement.

She was so lost in the memory of it that she barely noticed when Azriel’s phone began to ring and he excused himself to answer it. However, she found her composure slipping as the door snicked quietly shut behind him and she finally turned to face Cash.

Perhaps she’d been secretly waiting for Azriel to leave, not wanting an audience for what happened next. Her throat grew almost unbearably tight as she met Cash’s eye, and one syllable was all she managed to choke out.

“How?”

Cash bit his lip, seeming almost unsure.

“I had Ro’s guys collect the pieces after they’d processed the scene. I was going to tell you, but I wasn’t sure that Az could fix it and I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Do you—” he broke off, eyes desperately searching her face for a reaction. “Do you like it?”

Nesta felt herself break at that—at the quiet hope in his tone—and she pressed forward, burying her head into his chest as she let out a little sob.

His body seemed to unwind as his arms came effortlessly around her shoulders, his scent enveloping her and making her feel more safe than she swore she’d ever been.

“I could never bring myself to put something in the spot it had been,” she said through her tears. “Even after all this time, I didn’t want to admit it was really gone.”

Cash rested his cheek against her temple.

“I know,” he said quietly, stroking her hair.

Nesta wanted to tell him that he always did seem to know what it was she needed, and how much she adored him for it. However, her throat was still too tight for words, so she settled for squeezing him tighter.

“Thank you, Cash,” she said, tipping her head back to look at him. “It’s perfect.”

His face was solemn but still achingly handsome as he touched her cheek.

“I know there are still hard days for you, but I wanted you to be able to look at this bookcase and know that there is nothing so broken that it can’t still be fixed.”

She tightened her grip around his waist as a fresh wave of tears flooded her vision. They skidded down her cheeks as she nodded her wordless assent, and she made no move to stop Cash when he wiped each away. Nesta wasn’t sure how long they stood there waiting for her tears to stop, but when she finally did feel calm enough to pull away, it was to find Cash smiling at her, the twinkle back in his eye.

“So,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Surprised?”

Nesta let out an unexpected laugh as she wiped the mascara from beneath her eyes.

“Shocked,” she admitted, and his grin broadened.

“I should have gotten a recording of that for posterity.”

“You should have,” she agreed, smiling as well. “Because I will deny it if asked.”

“There’s my girl,” Cash said, though his voice had taken on a reverence that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. A year ago, Nesta would have snarled at him for it. Today, all she managed was a slight flush.

She felt herself slipping into the familiar eddy of their mutual attraction as she met Cash’s gaze again, and she couldn’t decide if she was relieved or frustrated when Azriel slipped back into the studio, causing Cash to take a casual step back.

Though mild, Azriel’s expression when he looked at Nesta seemed best described as apologetic, as if he expected her to start castigating him for ruining her family heirloom. Aware that her own expression might be conveying that very thing—albeit unwittingly—she softened, offering him a small smile.

“Thank you,” she said, surprised at how steady her voice sounded. “It’s so lovely.”

Azriel rubbed the back of his neck.

“I haven’t done figure work since design school,” he said in deflection, gesturing to the two Atlases. “And I had to do a bit of guessing on the frieze. The photo your sister gave Cash was at a downward angle.”

Nesta turned to Cash, thunderstruck.

“Elain is in on this?”

Cash grinned.

“My partner in crime? Of course she is.”

“She’s usually terrible at keeping secrets!”

At this Cash’s feral amusement softened slightly.  
  


“She knew what it would mean to you,” he said.

Nesta’s eyes began stinging again, but she shrugged the feeling off, not wanting to cry anymore.

“Well congratulations, then,” she said, and she could tell from Cash’s answering smirk that he’d sensed she didn’t want to dwell in deep emotion anymore. “You win this round .”

Cash looked over his shoulder in bewilderment before pointing to himself.

“I’m sorry, are you talking to... _me_?”

“Don’t be glib,” she warned, but he only offered her a flash of pearly teeth as he put a finger behind his ear.

“Did I hear that correctly? Nesta Archeron admitting I won? Man, is it your birthday or mine, because this is the best day of my life.”

Nesta pursed her lips and turned the Azriel, who was leaning in the doorway with arms crossed, a silent observer to their tete-a-tete.

“Has he always been this insufferable?”

Azriel shrugged, though the corner of his mouth curled up slightly as he said, “I would say no, but I don’t want you to be unrealistic in your expectations; Cash is an incredibly sore winner.”

“I’m not worse than Rhys.”

Azriel bubbled his lips.

“Low bar, brother.”

“I can’t pretend I’m not intrigued,” Nesta said. “He sounds like a fascinating creature, if only from a sociological perspective.”

Cash clapped a joking hand over her mouth.

“Don’t even say that out loud, lest he should be summoned here by the sound of a beautiful woman saying his name. We’d never hear the end of it.”

“Ethically dubious to compare your Persian friend to a genie,” Azriel pointed out, though his expression remained playful.

“A genie? No way, I meant like Beetlejuice.”

Azriel laughed, shaking his head.

“So where are you two going to dinner?”

Cash and Nesta spoke at the same time.

“Nobu.”

“La Boucherie.”

When Nesta whirled on Cash, mouth open in wordless protest, he gave her a triumphant smirk.

“Oops, did I say ‘sushi’? I meant French.”

Nesta punched him in the arm.

“You unprincipled swine! You lied to me!”

“Ah, ah,” Cash said. “Not lied. I _implied_ sushi, and when you objected I said you’d feel sheepish, which now—of course—you do.” He closed her still-open mouth with a finger under her chin before tapping her nose. “Checkmate, gorgeous.”

“You’re a vile wretch,” Nesta said, though she couldn’t deny being impressed. It wasn’t often that someone got the best of her in a nefarious scheme.

“Have you been to La Boucherie, Nesta?” Azriel interrupted. “The food is divine.”

“And it has the best wine list in the city,” Cash said. “You should have known better, Nes. You think I would take you to a place I couldn’t show off? I don’t know enough about saké for that.”

“You should,” Azriel said, arms still crossed. “You’ve certainly bombed enough of it in your day.”

“Don’t you have a nighttime guest you should be preparing for?”

At this, Azriel blushed, the color flooding his cheeks a stunning compliment to the burnished undertone of his skin.

“I’m with Nesta,” he said. “You’re a vile wretch.”

“I love you, too, handsome,” Cash said, blowing Azriel a mocking kiss. “You ready?”

As he turned to offer Nesta his arm, she had a revelation.

“Cash, I can’t go to a steak dinner; I’m in jeans!”

“Ah yes, I was wondering when that would come up! Don’t worry, my co-conspirator has it handled. There’s an outfit waiting for you at the hotel.”

“Hotel?” Nesta snarled. “Cassian!”

“You can’t expect us to have a boozy dinner and then drive five hours back to San Francisco! Don’t worry, I got us separate rooms so you won’t be tempted to spy on me when I’m in the shower.”

“Fine,” she said, ill-at-ease with the idea of being fussed over, even if some part of her liked that it was Cash who was doing the fussing. “Then you have to let me pay for dinner.”

Cash rolled his eyes.

“On your birthday? Be reasonable, Archeron.”

“You can’t puppy-guard the table forever; the minute you drink too much and go to the restroom, I will make sure the server understands the consequences should the check be placed in the wrong hands at the end of the meal.”

Cash’s eyes danced with mischief as he crossed his arms and took a step closer.

“So cute of you to think I didn’t put my card in the file when I made the reservation. There won’t even be a check, darling.”

“Ugh!”

Cash glanced around appreciatively.

“Is this how it feels to be you, always ten steps ahead of everyone else? I could definitely get used to this.”

“I’ll get my revenge,” Nesta promised. “I’m going to buy you a yacht for your birthday.”

Cash’s face melted into an expression of melodramatic horror.

“Oh no, not a _yacht_. Please, Nes, spare me the indignity!”

“If he doesn’t want it,” Azriel chimed in. “I’ll take it.”

Cash grinned.

“Your female friends would just love that, wouldn’t they?”

“Will you knock it off,” Azriel snarled quietly, face flushed again. He turned to Nesta. “I’m not—” he cleared his throat, clearly miserable, and Nesta felt for him.

“I know,” she said.

She considered adding that he ought to come to San Francisco soon meet Elain before quickly deciding against it. Cash’s best friend or no, it was a bit of an overstep to suggest this stranger date her sister. Still, he was just as Cash described: kind and unassuming with dark hair and what was clearly a heart of gold. Even by Nesta’s stringent standards he seemed to pass muster. And if he were to start seeing Elain, she would have an excuse to have Cash around even more often...

“You ready, love?” Cash asked, drawing her from her reverie.

She debated snapping at him for it just to prove she still could, though it seemed a poor ruse for the truth: she loved when he called her that, and she hoped he never stopped.

“It was nice meeting you,” she said to Azriel. “And thank you for the bookcase. It’s…perfect.”

Azriel rubbed the back on his neck again, even as he flashed her a bashful smile.

“My pleasure.”

“You need to come up to San Fran for dinner sometime, brother,” Cash said. “Nesta’s sister Elain is in grad school for Art History, I think she’d be elated to have someone to talk to about design.”

Cash shot Nesta a wink over Azriel’s head. The latter—true to form—only flushed.

“I think I’d embarrass her with how little I know about actual art,” he demurred.

“Well then you’ll just have to come for the excellent wine.”

Azriel rolled his eyes but nodded, full lips etched with the shadow of a smile.

“Finally, something I know I can handle.”

Cash laughed, patting Azriel’s cheek before being batted away.

“Nesta,” Azriel said, giving Cash a hearty shove as he tried to wrestle Azriel into a hug. “Happy Birthday, sorry you have to spend it with this asshole. I will have my guys deliver the bookcase this week.”

Nesta nodded, throat getting tight as she admired the beautiful job Azriel had done.

“Thank you again. It’s—I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

“Thank Cash,” Azriel said, voice soft. “He was the mastermind. I’m just the loyal henchman.”

Nesta turned to offer Cash a smile, her hand coming to rest on his forearm.

“Thank you,” she said. “For all your masterminding.”

She bathed in the warmth of his eyes as they skidded back and forth across her face and he said, “For you Nesta Archeron? Anything.”

Nesta couldn’t help but preen a bit at that, even as she tried to remind herself not to do anything she might later regret. Sure, Cash was gorgeous, and generous, and funny, and wonderful. But he was also her friend, and she couldn’t—she _wouldn’t_ —lose him now.

So she forced herself to step back, giving the bookcase a final, loving stroke before ascending the stairs out of the studio.

“Would you join us for a drink before dinner?” she said to Azriel, wanting to ensure she’d properly won him over for Cash’s sake.

“I’d love to,” Azriel said, hand at his neck again. “But I have some things I need to get done in the studio tonight. Thank you, though.”

“Liar,” Cash said, grinning. “What’s her name?”

“None of your business and also I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Azriel said archly. “Now get out before you upset Beans. Nesta, feel free to hang around as long as you like; Cash can wait on the curb.”

Cash laughed, stringing a gentle arm around Nesta’s shoulders.

“Trying to steal my best girl, Az?”

“Don’t be a clown,” Nesta said, not wanting to acknowledge the way those words flooded through her.

Despite all Cash’s flirting and long looks, he’d never once made a move; if that didn’t prove his lack of amorous intentions towards her, nothing would. Nesta often assured herself that that was how she wanted it between her and Cash, if only to keep the twinge of the alternative at bay.

“C’mon, troublemaker,” she said, taking Cash’s arm and smiling at Azriel. “Azriel, Cash’s offer stands. Come to San Francisco anytime.”

He smiled, waving as they got back into Cash’s jeep.

“Looking forward to it.”

Nesta and Cash dipped into a comfortable silence on the drive to the hotel, and Nesta felt her heart swell almost painfully as the impact of Cash’s gift swept over her a second time. That he’d thought—even with everything else going on that night—to collect the pieces of her grandmother’s bookcase, that he’d thought to collect them at all...He’d never been to her house before the night of the attack, never heard her talk about the piece or what it meant to her family.

Perhaps it was a fitting metaphor for Cash’s presence in her life: from the day she’d first met him and he’d poured her that glass of French red, Cash had understood her implicitly. He was always quick to ask what she needed, but most of the time he needn’t have bothered; he seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

It was only when she realized she’d been staring that Nesta pulled back from her musings. Cash, it turned out, had been watching her as well, and he gave her an odd smile as he shook his head.

“Uh-oh,” he said. “I know that look.”

Nesta’s mouth went suddenly dry, but she forced herself not to react beyond a raised brow.

“Go on, then, Madame Zora; what look is that?”

“The ‘Azriel Macar is gorgeous’ look.”

“He’s not better-looking than you,” Nesta blurted.

Cash’s grin faded from impish to slightly awed, and Nesta’s cheeks were suddenly on fire.   
  
“Oh, don’t get excited; you know you’re handsome.”

“Of course I do,” he said. “But you’ve never given me any indication that _you_ think so.”

“I didn’t realize your ego was so fragile, Cash.”

“Oh, like brittle glass. Kiss it better?”

She rolled her eyes as they pulled into the valet of the Intercontinental in downtown LA.

“That metaphor doesn’t even make sense,” she pointed out.

“Not everything has to,” Cash said, hopping out before opening her own door for her. “Shall we?”

True to his word, Cash had gotten them two separate rooms, albeit side-by-side. A neatly-packed overnight bag had been waiting in Nesta’s, one of her favorite Dolce & Gabbana cocktail dresses tucked inside. It was calf-length and made of midnight blue silk, fitting through the thighs before belling into a tasteful ruffle at the hem.

It wasn’t just Cash who knew her well, Nesta decided as she admired the way the dress hugged her slender silhouette; it was exactly the dress she would have picked for herself had she known where she’d be going tonight. Thanking Elain for her keen sense of observation, Nesta freshened her makeup and put on the diamond drop earrings her sister had included before making her way to the 70th floor of the hotel where La Boucherie, the famed french steakhouse, resided.

Cash was leaning on the host stand chatting to a preening waitress when Nesta arrived, though he quickly fell silent as he turned and took Nesta in.

“You look—” he began, throat bobbing slightly as he swallowed. “Nes, you look gorgeous.”

“I know,” she said. “But thank you.”

He must have just put on cologne, and the smell—cool and sharp—was like satin sliding on bare skin as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. Nesta felt her own prickle in response.

“Shall we, then?” Cash said, his fingers just barely brushing the small of her back.

“Lead on.”

He smiled, gesturing for her to follow the slightly-disgruntled waitress as she seated them at an intimate bistro table near the wall of windows overlooking the glittering lights of Los Angeles. The girl continued to try and catch Cash’s eye as she handed them both menus and rattled off the specials, but Nesta found she couldn’t bring herself to listen or care. Instead her focus was fixed on Cash, who was studying her with similar appreciation.

Nesta thought again of the girl Cash might end up with, unsurprised at the pang the idea caused. Still, she would force herself to accept it when the time came; Nesta could only pray she’d been less annoying than this twit.

Unable to take it anymore, Nesta interrupted.

“Great, thank you so much for your expertise, can you bring us a wine menu?”

The girl didn’t bother to hide her disappointment as she offered Nesta a fake smile and stalked off.

“I think I upset your girlfriend,” she said when they were alone again.

Cash laughed.

“Too young, too blonde, and too boring. Besides, only room for one girl in my life tonight.”

Nesta bit her lip to keep in a smile.

“Do you practice these lines, or are most of them off the cuff?”

“It’s a mix,” he said, opening his menu. “What are you in the mood for?”

Nesta flipped open her own menu, making a quick scan before gritting her teeth. There were no prices listed. When she glanced up to give Cash a murderous look, he merely smiled.

“I had them print a special menu that excluded pricing. I knew you’d try and go the ‘less expensive entree on the menu’ route, but I also know you aren’t so boorish that you’d ask the waiter what their cheapest dish is.”

“Just how long have you been planning this?”

He leaned in, his earrings burnished by the low light of the chandeliers overhead.

“If I say ‘the day we met’, is that creepy?”

“Yes!” she snarled.

“Okay great. Then about two months.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“I still don’t fully understand your aversion to gifts, but it’s something I’m hoping we can get to this evening, maybe after a bottle or two of wine.”

Cash had just opened the newly-dropped off wine list when Nesta snatched it away.

“Not so fast, maestro.”

She gestured over a reedy server.

“Is your wine manager in? Would you mind sending him over?”

The man frowned.

“Is everything—”

“Oh fine,” Nesta said brightly. “I just need to test something.”

Still puzzled, the man gave a dubious nod and shuffled off.

Cash narrowed his eyes, still smiling.

“You tricky minx; what are you up to?”

She gave him a cat-like smirk.

“You’ll see.”

When the wine manager—a gentleman in his early fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a kind smile—arrived, Nesta pulled him aside to explain what she wanted before he was off again. She resettled in her seat, her smile gone slightly wicked now as Cash studied her. After a second he relented, laughing in realization.

“You don’t think I can do it.”

She rested her chin in her fist, amusement growing. “Do what?”

“What,” he said, leaning in as well. “You think they just gave me that Master Somm pin for being cute?”

“So you really think you can identify a wine just by tasting it?”

“I guess you’re about to find out,” Cash said with a grin as two glasses of red were set on the table, the wine manager slipping a piece of paper into Nesta’s hand.

She read it quickly before tucking it into her dress. Cash watched her do it with undisguised male appreciation before turning to his glass. He studied his it for a moment, smoothing his hands across his grey slacks as he took a deep breath.

“Go on, then,” Nesta said, chin still propped in a fist. “Dazzle me.”

Cash laughed, though he seemed less sure of himself than usual.

“Okay, here I go,” he said before quietly adding to himself, “really hope I don’t make an ass out of myself.”

“Don’t forget to show your work,” Nesta said, wanting to listen as he worked his way through it….if he could.

Holding up the glass, he studied the color under the dying light of the spectacular California sunset.

“It’s not a pinot,” he began. “The color is wrong.”

“Wrong how?” Nesta prompted, ever the curious student.

“A young pinot is almost pink, and an older pinot is rust-colored. I would say it’s probably not a Merlot or young Cab, either, but that’s getting ahead of myself.”

She watched as he swirled the wine, studying the way it clung to the glass’s side.

“Probably between 14-15% ABV.”

He paused to grin at her.

“Damn, sister, you trying to get me drunk?”

Nesta smirked.

“Quit stalling.”

He gave the wine another swirl with an elegant flick of his wrist before taking a sip and holding it on his tongue.

“Old World,” he said immediately.

“How do you know?”

“New World wine is all about experimentation and creativity. That’s why they are usually so lush and fruit-forward; they’re an expression of the winemaker’s imagination.”

“And Old World?”

“Old World wine is an expression of the grape itself. A love-letter to earth in which the grape is grown. It’s called—”

“Terrior,” Nesta finished.

Cash grinned.

“My star pupil. This is too subtle and too refined to be New World.”

Cash took another sip, holding the wine on his tongue.

“It’s got a beautiful body,” he said, pausing to wink at her in a not-so-subtle insinuation that he thought she did, too. She ignored the way that made her belly tighten.

“It’s dry, but not enough to make your mouth pucker,” he went on. “Tannic, but not enough to give you a massive headache. It’s a blend.”

He studied the color again, a rich burgundy which glittered with a cardinal red undertone in the light.

“The predominant grape is definitely Granache. Secondary grape could be Mourvedre, or maybe Syrah?”

“Appellation?”

“France,” Cash said. “Southern France. There is herb de provence and olive with the fruit.”

“Which are?”

“Dark berries. Black cherry and grilled plum, I think? I don’t know, plum always gets me.”

He paused long enough to make her smile.

“That all you got, Maestro?”

His expression melted to a bronzed grin, as if he’d simply been waiting for her to ask.

“Of course not. The body opens up the longer it sits, which means the grape has really had time to develop. That is achieved through temperature. It can’t be too hot or the grape will wither. Too cold and they will ice over and make Madeira.”

“I get it, Goldilocks; they have to be just right.”

“Exactly. And you know what makes the grapes just right? _Galets roulés._ Smooth pebbles that absorb heat from the sun and release the heat overnight, keeping the grape right in the sweet spot. Galets roulés are naturally occuring in the soil. Ask me where they come from.”

She rolled her eyes, even as her pulse trilled. Watching him work through this was quite possibly the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

“Where do they come from?”

“They’re river stones, worn down over time by the freeze and flow of the river. But not any river, the Rhone river in Southern France. And while you sometimes see the effects of galets roulés in wine from the Côtes du Rhône, the sub-appellation most famous for galets roulés, especially in Grenache, is Châteauneuf-du-Pape. A lot of great winemakers in that area, but the most refined wines—the most _seductive_ —are from a father/daughter vineyard called Domaine du Pegau.”

Cash paused to grin, his teeth diamond-bright under the glow of the chandeliers.

“ _This_ is a Domaine du Pegau Cuvée Réservée. Now vintage, I admit, is not my strongest suit, but gun to my head, I am going to say this is…” he paused, head weaving back and forth in consideration. “It’s so damn good, I’m going to say it’s a 2016.”

Nesta couldn’t help it; by the time he’d finished, her mouth was slightly agape, but she couldn’t even grasp her thoughts enough to make a witty retort.

Cash’s smile was feline as he said, “I’m going to guess from the adorable look on your face that I’m right.”

“How did you do that? That was—”

When she broke off, Cash rubbed his hands together theatrically.

“Oh boy, here it comes: my first Nesta Archeron compliment!”

“I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

Cash blew a good-natured raspberry.

“Sort of lackluster, but I’ll take it.”

Just then the waiter passed by, and Cash caught the man by the elbow.

“Can you bring us a bottle of the Domaine du Pegau Cuvée Réservée and a pair of bordeaux glasses?”

Nesta shook her head as the man disappeared and Cash continued grinning.

“Well what are you waiting for?” he said, gesturing to her glass. “Try it for yourself.”

Nesta took a sip and had to bite back her moan. It was amazing, made all the more satisfying by Cash’s impressive demonstration.

She almost said it then, almost told him what had increasingly been on her mind when they were together, and even when they weren’t. It was, admittedly, the perfect place for it; the lights were low, the wine was flowing, and he was giving her that look he sometimes did, the one that made her feel as if she were the only woman on earth.

She wasn’t sure what was stopping her. Still, she felt the words tangled in her throat as she studied him. Cash was as close to perfect as she was certain men came, and the covetous part of her wanted to keep him all to herself.

But there was another part of her which looked back on her relationship with Tomás and wondered if his cancerous decline into abuse had somehow been her doing. If she’d pushed him too hard, demanded too much, subjected him to her punishing standard of perfection so long that he’d snapped. Perhaps it was just a result of his years of gaslighting, but it was a thought she had yet to fully shake, and if there was even a chance it was true—

She couldn’t bear to do the same thing to Cash.

“Enough day-dreaming,” Cash interrupted, holding up his glass to her. “Let’s celebrate.”

It wasn’t until several hours later that Nesta found herself heading back to her room, heels in her left hand and Cash’s in her right. She was swaying slightly from all the wine, but she was pleasantly surprised to find she wasn’t overly drunk, just...buzzy. It was a sensation which only increased as Cash squeezed her hand.

“Good birthday, then?”

She snorted, the sound turning to a laugh as she said, “as far as such things go.”

He shook his head, still beaming. Nesta was honestly convinced he was the most handsome man on earth.

“What am I going to do with you, Archeron?”

She had to bite down the several suggestions that came to mind as she found her door, turning to lean against it as she gazed up at Cash.

She was so often in heels that it was easy to forget how much bigger he was than her. With other men—even ones like Rowan whom she trusted—that often made her nervous. With Cash it made her feel...safe.

“Thank you,” she said, watching him through her lashes as he took a step closer. “It really was a lovely day.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “Making you happy is...”

“Is what?” she prompted when he trailed off.

He laughed.

“Not easy to do.”

She couldn’t help it. She deflated a bit at that, even knowing it was true. She was prickly and could be exhausting even to the people that loved her. Cash was too good a guy to ever admit the burden of it, but she was sure it was heavy enough most days to give him a backache.

She tried to keep her face neutral, her smile easy, but Cash must have noticed the change in her.

“Fuck,” he breathed, chancing another step forward. “I have no idea why I said that. That was a complete lie. I—I just didn’t want to freak you out.”

“What did you mean, then?”

His expression softened .

“I meant that making you happy is my favorite thing in the world. You’re incredible, Nesta. I don’t think you get told that enough, even by me.”

She flushed, the words from earlier rising again in her throat.

“I think you’re okay, too,” she croaked out, and he laughed, seeming to relax.

“There she is. Happy birthday, Nes. Sleep well.”

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, his sharp jaw brushing her cheekbone as his lips met her skin. She wasn’t sure she was breathing as he lingered before finally pulling back.

She couldn’t help her gaze as it fell to his well-curved mouth, close enough to hers that she could feel his breath on her lips. Gentle shackling her wrist with a hand, he guided her arm above her head so her body naturally curved towards his.

“Nes,” he breathed.

This was either the best or the worst idea Nesta had ever had, but at this point she was way too far gone to care. Cash slowly intertwined their fingers as he leaned in farther, her breasts nearly brushing his broad chest as her lips nearly brushed—

Nesta’s phone began quacking obnoxiously, a signal that Feyre was calling. The sound startled sense into her and she pushed Cash off with a nonchalant laugh, as if they hadn’t been about to cross that final line still drawn between them.

“If you’d like to be scarred for life,” she said. “You can hang around and listen to Feyre sing.”

Cash laughed, too, the heat gone from his expression. Or perhaps she’d imagined it being there in the first place, and this had all been some sort of wine-soaked fever dream.

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

He laughed again, the sound easier this time.

“I think I’ll have to pass; I want to be able to still look her in the eye.”

“Good choice,” she said, sliding her key into the door. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you then,” he echoed. “We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

She blew him what she hoped was a friendly— _friendly_?— kiss before answering the phone and listening to Feyre’s pitchy, half-screamed happy birthday.

She found as she brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas that she kept one ear trained on the door, waiting to see if there would be a knock. If there was, she decided, she would open it and let Cash in.

However, there was still nothing as she crawled into the plush bed an hour later, and she sang herself to sleep with the repeated lullaby that it was for the best, and she would be glad in the morning.

She and Cash—they were just friends, and she could ask for nothing more from him than that.

* * *

Cash knocked on the door of the townhouse, a crate of wine under one arm and flowers in the other, wishing he’d thought to spit out his gum. After weeks of playful begging from Nesta’s sisters to throw another party, he’d received an invitation (a literal, physical invitation printed on thick paper and sent through the mail) to one of Nesta’s famed dinner parties. He’d certainly been invited to dinner at her place before, but this felt different somehow. More...formal.

As much time as he spent with Nesta, he rarely interacted with her friends, and he sometimes wondered if she didn’t consider him fit for the polished, well-educated social circle she’d rekindled since breaking up with Tomás. Somm training aside, Cash had never been a particularly engaged student, and though he considered himself at least moderately intelligent, he certainly had no opinions on the merits of Russian literature or the philosophical theories of history’s greatest thinkers or whatever else it was you learned in college.

So when he’d received her invitation to this evening’s soiree, he felt the fear of his own inadequacy fade. If Nesta had been embarrassed of him, she never would have invited him, no matter the pressure her sisters or anyone else might put on her. Cash only hoped her friend Clare wouldn’t be in attendance; it would be a nuisance if he had to fend off her attentions all night. Especially because—

Cash took a steadying breath as he heard soft footfall on the stairs. Especially because tonight, Cash had promised himself he’d finally sack up and tell Nesta how he felt.

He’d been putting it off since her birthday, not sure how to bring up what had happened without it seeming as if he’d only brought her to LA so he could sleep with her. It had never been his intention, and he couldn’t bear the possibility that Nesta might interpret it that way.

Still, that was not to say he wouldn’t have, had things gone differently that night. Before Feyre had called, Cash had been more than ready to take Nesta to bed and worship her the way he was confident only he could. But then they’d been interrupted, and Nesta had pushed him off like it had been a misunderstanding…

He’d debated for almost an hour if he wanted to go back and knock on her door, though whether to explain himself or kiss her senseless, he didn’t know. In the end, he couldn’t find a way to broach the subject without possibly offending her, and he’d decided it hadn’t been worth the risk of ruining what had otherwise been an incredibly lovely evening.

It was a decision that had haunted him in the weeks since, and he was determined to remedy his mistake tonight. Not by sleeping with her—though the prospect was sorely tempting—but by finally admitting just how hard he’d fallen for her. Besides, he was running out of time. A few more weeks and he was afraid Aelin was going to tell Nesta everything herself, strangers or no.

He couldn’t help but grin as the door swung in to reveal a smirking Nesta, her mouth painted with a beguiling red lipstick he wanted to kiss off her.

“My hero,” she said in greeting, gesturing to the crate in his arms before noticing the flowers and going still.

“These are for you,” he said, extending them to her.

Her cheeks went the same petal pink as the asiatic lilies in the bouquet.

“They’re lovely,” she said.

“So are you,” he replied, loving the way her blush deepened.

“Thank you,” she said before quickly adding. “For the flowers. The tawdy compliment, obviously, you can keep.”

He grinned.

“Please, you loved it.”

She glanced up at him through her lashes. Even in her heels she was considerably shorter than him.

“Maybe,” she admitted.

There was a beat of silence as they stood studying one another, and Cash weighed the merits of simply closing the distance between them and kissing her right there, on her front step. Before he could decide one way or another, they were interrupted with a call from the second floor.

“Quit hoarding Cash!”

“And the wine!” A second voice added, and Nesta rolled her eyes, stepping aside to let Cash in.

He brushed kiss on her cheek as he did, remembering how close he’d come to the real thing in LA. He tried to shove the thought aside, but it lingered with renewed vigor as he followed her up the stairs and her perfect, heart-shaped ass was right at eye level.He could tell through the fabric of her slim-fitting dress that she must have been wearing a thong, and it was the most exquisite torture to imagine what she would look like in only a thong.

He cursed himself a swine as they emerged onto the second floor and he set down the wine, the smell of some sort of delicious braised meat hitting him a minute before Feyre did.

She practically leapt into his arms, and he had to bend his knees to absorb the unexpected impact as his arms came automatically around her.

“Very dignified,” Nesta sniffed as she went in search of a vase for her bouquet.

Feyre only laughed.

“It feels like it’s been forever!” she said, finally letting go and sliding to her bare feet. “It gets boring here without you.”

Unlike Nesta, who’d dressed for the occasion in an elegant cocktail dress, Feyre was in faded leggings and a slouchy sweater, it’s sleeves slightly discolored by paint stains which had been washed over several times.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Cash said, giving her hair a playful ruffle. “What did you do with Ellie?”

“Cinder-Elain is in the kitchen, and in desperate need of some wine,” a voice called, and Cash laughed, cutting through the open-plan living/dining area to the enormous kitchen. Elain was at the stove, her hair in a messy braid and an apron reading, “Baci il Cuoco”, strung around her neck.

“Looks amazing,” Cash said in greeting, doing as her apron instructed and kissing her on the cheek. “What are you making?”

“Ossobuco with risotto alla milanese,” she said, beaming. “It’s a new recipe.”

Cash nodded.

“It must be the veal that smells so good.”

“Oh no!” Elain said, her smile fading to an adorably pert frown. “I could never eat a baby animal! I used short-ribs instead.”

“Ellie’s the only decent one of us,” Nesta said, coming to stand next to Cash as he opened one of the bottles he’d brought and emptied it into a crystal decanter sitting on the gorgeously-appointed dining table. “I would eat veal-stuffed lamb with a side foie gras and never lose a wink of sleep over it.”

“That’s terrible,” Elain snapped. “Do you know what they do to the ducks to fatten their livers?”

“Nothing I want to hear about before dinner,” Feyre said. “Who else are we waiting for, Nes?”

For a moment Cash felt unease sluice through him as he wondered if this wasn’t one of Nesta’s famed parties after all, and if she’d simply deflected by inviting him to a dinner (albeit a fancy one) with just her sisters.

However, the feeling quickly faded as Nesta said, “Lucien and Andy and Manon and her new boyfriend.”

“No Clare?”

Cash was halfway through a sigh of relief when Nesta added, “Oh and Clare.”

Cash nearly dropped the bottle of sparkling rose he’d been in the middle of opening, and Nesta smirked.

“You should have been clever and brought a buffer like Lucien.”

“Poor Andy,” Elain tutted. “He has no idea what he’s in for.”

“Poor Cash,” Cash said. “He doesn’t have a buffer!”

Feyre laughed as Elain said, eyes twinkling, “Nes is your buffer.”

“Nes is the hostess,” Nesta interrupted. “And as such she has to remain impartial.”

“What’s Manon’s new boyfriend like? He should probably have been forewarned as well,” Feyre pointed out.

Cash only laughed, pouring the rosé into flutes and passing them out.

“If Clare thinks she’s going to cross Manon and get away with it, God bless and keep her.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Nesta said, raising her glass. “Cheers.”

She caught Cash’s eye as they touched glasses and drank, and he tried not to dwell on her full lips as she took a sip, wondering what they might look like it they were wrapped around—

“So what do we know about this guy?” Elain said.

“Only that we aren’t allowed to use the b-word, even though they’ve been exclusive for months and Manon’s clearly in love.”

“Didn’t think she had it in her,” Cash muttered into his glass, earning a surprisingly painful punch on the arm from Nesta.

“What else do you know about him?” Feyre said. “I’m living through her.”

“Oh yeah, where’s your boy-toy?” Cash asked Feyre.

“We broke up,” she said airily.

“Thank god,” Nesta murmured, blowing Cash a kiss as he topped off her flute.

He wondered if she’d notice that he was serving the same Cuvée they’d drank on her birthday at dinner.

What was he saying; of course she would.This was Nesta he was talking about, and she missed nothing. He only hoped she’d understand the meaning behind that choice.

_That night was one of the best of my life, and I want a thousand more like it._

“He was just so boring, Rae Rae,” Elain added, drawing Cash from his own thoughts. “I only talked to him for like ten minutes and I wanted to cry.”

Feyre opened her mouth, surely to tell Elain she was in no position to complain about other people’s boyfriends, when the doorbell rang.

Noting the tension, Nesta said, “Fey, will you get that please?”

Feyre rolled her eyes but did as she was told, at which point Elain went back to her cooking and Nesta turned to Cash.

“You look nice, by the way,” she said, absently running the lapel of his blazer between her middle and index fingers.

Cash considered pretending it was something he’d just thrown on. However, he realized it would be a giveaway to just how much time he had spent picking out something suitable, so instead he settled for, “so do you.”

Nesta’s smile was feline, the heat in it enough to turn Cash’s legs to jelly.

“Don’t I always?” she said.

“Yes,” he said candidly. “But this is—” he paused to admire the prussian blue dress she wore before throwing caution to the wind and brushing a casual hand down her side, as if he were merely admiring the fabric. “—particularly fetching.”

She tried to hide it, but he could see her preening a bit at the comment. As happy as it made him to see her smile like that, he also felt a dull rage rumble in his gut. Nesta had never admitted as much out loud, but he could tell Tomás had made a deliberate exercise of never paying Nesta compliments, and now—despite her bravura—she was unaccustomed to getting them.

Before he could debate pushing the issue by telling her how the dress set off her gorgeous gray-blue eyes, Elain interrupted with a delighted squeal.

Cash turned to watch two men—one a tan redhead and the other a darker-skinned brunette—step into the great room.

The redhead, Cash realized, was familiar, though he couldn’t say quite why.

“Lucien!” Elain said, skirting the marble island at which Cash and Nesta sat to hug the redhead.

Lucien.

Cash studied the man again as he tried to remember why that name sounded familiar. It hit him when the stranger turned to greet Nesta.

Lucien was Eris Vanserra’s little brother.

He gave Nesta a fleeting kiss on the cheek before turning to extend a hand to Cash.

“Lucien.”

“Cash,” Cash said, and though he told himself not to, he couldn’t help adding, “You look just like your brother.”

“Half-brother,” Lucien corrected archly, some of the light going out of brown eyes. “We have different dads.”

A pointed distinction to prove he wasn’t Beron’s biological son. Upon further inspection, Cash could see it was true; while Lucien had Eris’s same auburn hair, his skin was a smooth shade of brown that no amount of time in the sun could ever produce, especially in a red head.

“Don’t be grouchy, Luc. Eris is very handsome,” Elain said, shooting Cash a conciliatory smile.

At this Lucien’s displeasure melted to a bronzed grin, as if he too wanted to avoid upsetting Elain.

“He’d be beside himself to hear you say that,” he said, and she wrinkled her nose.

“I would literally rather die.”

“I still swear there’s a notebook hidden somewhere in his apartment with ‘Mr. and Mrs. Elain Archeron’ scrawled all over it with hearts.”

“Leave her alone,” the dark-haired man offered, punching Lucien in the arm. “No one wants to be pined after by your creep brother.”

“Here, here,” Cash said, and the younger man smiled, pleased to have found an audience.

“I’m Lucien’s friend, András,” he said, sticking out his hand.

Cash did the same, though Feyre cut him off before he could speak.

“András?” she repeated as they shook hands. “So formal tonight!”

András rolled his eyes.

“Mostly I go by Andy,” he explained.

“No, I like it,” Feyre said. “Adds a certain gravitas to the proceedings. She turned to Cash, grinning. “Maybe we should be calling you Cassian tonight, too.”

“Oh god, please don’t.” To András he added, “call me Cash.”

András—Andy, Cash corrected himself—nodded, accepting a proffered flute from Feyre and holding it up in salute.

“So,” Lucien said, taking a sip of his own glass before studying the contents appreciatively. “What time is the Wicked Witch of the East due to arrive?”

“If you mean Manon, she’s on her way,” Nesta said before putting a finger in Lucien’s face. “And she’s bringing someone, so play nice.”

“Who is Manon?” Andy asked.

Lucien was already shaking his head, a conspiratorial grin on his face.

“A sorceress of terrible power,” he said, earning a slap upside the head from Nesta.

“And you wonder why you’re still single,” she snarled.

“That’s easily remedied,” Feyre pointed out with a beatific smile. “Clare’s coming tonight.”

Lucien’s smile only grew at this, and he could see why he was such good friends with the Archeron girls; he was as devious as they were.

“I have a feeling she’ll be too distracted to care that I’m here,” Lucien said, his smile turned on Cash now. “Good luck.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure,” Elain said airily, even as her eyes flicked between Cash and Nesta. “She doesn’t know you and Jes broke up yet.”

Some of the smugness drained from Lucien’s face.

“You’re evil, Archeron.”

“I’m not the one who slept with her,” Elain said, lips pursed. “If you want her to stop chasing after you, stop sending her mixed signals.”

Lucien’s face tightened but he offered no retort, a signal that he knew Elain was right.

“Back to Manon,” Feyre said. “What else do we know about this guy? What does he do?”

Cash tried not to seem overeager for the answer, hoping Nesta wouldn’t say he was an astrophysicist or some sort of tech prodigy out of Silicon Valley.

“He plays hockey for the…Princes? I don’t know.”

“The Kings, you mean?” Andy offered.

“Whatever team plays in LA.”

“The Kings,” all three guys said at once.

Cash could barely suppress his sigh of relief. A professional sports player he could definitely handle. Ordinarily he was more of a football fan, but he’d watched enough hockey this season to keep conversation flowing, provided the guy wasn’t a total prick.

“What position?” Andy asked. “Anyone we might have heard of?”

“Is Center a position? I think that’s what he is. He’s a starter, I know that.”

Realization struck Cash, but it was Lucien who spoke first, demanding, “Manon is dating _Dorian Havilliard_?”

“Why?” Feyre said with renewed interest. “Who is that?”

“He’s the next Wayne Gretsky,” Andy supplied. “Hands-down the best player in the league right now.”

“Westfall?” Lucien countered, but Andy shook his head.

“Havilliard is definitely better. Dude’s a stud.”

“He’s handsome, too,” Elain supplied, and when the boys gave her a quizzical look she clarified, “Graysen loves hockey.”

She ignored Lucien’s poorly-disguised cough of disapproval.

“Manon’s a total badass,” Feyre said in appreciation. “I’m not surprised she’s got some gorgeous millionaire panting after her.”

“You’re just as accomplished and beautiful as Manon. Maybe some gorgeous millionaire will fall for you, too,” said Elain obligingly.

“Mostly likely not, though,” Lucien added, grinning again.

“Just for that,” Feyre shot back. “I’m going to marry a _billionaire_ , and I’m going to demand you to walk me down the aisle so I can remind you of this moment and say ‘I told you so.’”

Lucien’s wicked amusement faded to something softer.

“No demanding necessary, Rae Rae,” he said, chucking Feyre’s chin with the affection of an elder brother. “I’d be honored to give you away, even if you are marrying a billionaire and I have to endure a lifetime of ‘I told you so’s for it.”

“Luckily Feyre doesn’t know any billionaires,” Nesta said with pursed lips. “So we don’t have to discuss her getting married any time soon.”

“I’m not a child,” Feyre said, arms crossed.

“Close enough,” Nesta said as the bell rang again. “Will you get that, please?”

“I’m not a footman, either,” Feyre grumbled, though she dutifully rose to her feet.

“And I repeat,” Nesta said, smirking. “Close enough.”

She gave Feyre a playful tap on the butt, shooing her towards the stairs. Feyre rolled her eyes before doing as she was bid.

Cash was just finishing opening a fresh bottle of the rosé when Manon swept into the room, a sickeningly handsome dark-haired man in tow.

As always she was a vision, her moon-white hair hanging in a shining curtain down her back and her slender eyes accentuated with shimmery powder. The creme silk cocktail dress she wore should have clashed horribly with her hair, but somehow on Manon it worked, and the way she carried herself—hips swishing so the material shone under the lights—told Cash she was certainly aware of just how devastating she was in it. Still, he found that, as always, Manon’s beauty was having no effect on him.

Her eyes found Nesta first, the amber in them softening to honey as she smiled.

“Salut,” she said, kissing Nesta’s cheek before holding her at arms length to survey her attire. “Tu es magnifique.”

Cash had to agree. In that dress, Nesta was beyond gorgeous.

“So do you, annoyingly enough,” Nesta said in response, eyes falling on Manon’s companion before extending her hand.

“Nesta,” she said. “So nice to finally meet you.”

The man’s smile was easy, the gesture of a person accustomed to female attention.

“This is Dorian,” Manon said for him before turning back to Nesta. “Is there wine, _coquinette_?”

At this her eyes fell on Cash.

“Ah, of course there is, you are here.”

“Good to see you, too,” Cash said. “I think.”

Manon only raised her eyebrows at him in response. Cash braced himself for her next comment before she noticed Lucien and her lips pursed.

Seeing she was about to eviscerate him, Lucien beat her to it, looking her up and down and drawling, “How are you, Manon? Even get those ruby slippers back from Dorothy?”

Manon flashed him a truly terrifying smile, and Cash had to give Lucien credit that he hadn’t tucked tail and headed for the hills by now.

“If only you would tell me where she’s hiding, you scrawny little scarecrow.”

Dorian surprised Cash by chuckling. Perhaps Cash should make some effort to get to know him; any guy who was unafraid of Manon likely had some staying power.

“You must be the boyfriend,” Lucien said to Dorian, meeting Manon’s glower with an edged grin.

Before Dorian could respond, Manon once again cut him off.

“Dorian’s not my boyfriend,” Manon said, smiling at Nesta as the latter offered her a glass of sparkling wine.

“Dorian, can I get you a glass?” Nesta offered

Dorian flashed a rueful grin, rubbing the back of his neck.

“There isn’t going to be a test later, is there?”

Cash realized with surprise that the question was for him, though he didn’t have a chance to answer before Dorian went on, “Manon told me you’re a sommelier. I—I’m terrible with wine.”

It struck Cash, then; this guy was as nervous about fitting in as Cash had been. It made him feel better to know that he wasn’t the only one.

“No tests,” Cash said. “Unless we find out you’re sober at the end of the night, in which case you’ve failed. I’m Cash. Great to meet you, man.”

He extended a hand, which Dorian seemed more than grateful to shake.

“Dorian,” Dorian added uselessly. “And thank god. I was terrified I was going to be exposed as the stupidest person here.”

“Of course you’re not,” Manon said. “Why do you think I asked Nesta to invite Lucien?”

Nesta—ever the consummate hostess—forged on as if Manon had not spoken, making the remainder of the introductions and getting Dorian a drink. Conversation flowed rather easily after that, and Cash was relieved to find that Dorian was not, in fact, a huge prick, and that Cash actually enjoyed his company. He’d been so wrapped up with Nesta these past months that he sometimes forgot how few male friends he had. Lucien seemed like an acquired taste, but Cash could see Dorian getting along well with Ro and the others. And if Dorian truly was dating Manon and he and Cash became friends...it was just another opportunity for him to spend time with Nesta, a prospective which trilled in his blood.

“Are we waiting on someone?” Manon asked finally. “If I don’t eat something soon, I’m going to be stinking drunk.”

Just then there was the sound of the front door opening and closing and a voice calling up the stairs, “Nesta, did you know your door was open?”

“Batten down the hatches,” Lucien muttered to himself, refilling his wine glass.

“Be nice,” Nesta snarled back, just in time for Clare Beddor to walk through the door. 

She really was a prettier girl than they often gave her credit for, though there was always a “fatal attraction” gleam in her eye than set Cash on edge. A glance at Lucien told him the latter was thinking the same, though Andy…

He eyed Clare with undiluted appreciation, not yet immune to her fresh-faced charm. Cash couldn’t have been more grateful as Clare made the rounds greeting everyone, her gaze practically devouring him as she took note of his presence.

When she reached Dorian in the circle, Manon interrupted Clare’s introduction with a clipped, “This is my boyfriend, Dorian.”

Cash and Nesta traded a mirthful look at the not-so-casual reversal on Manon’s part, even as Clare gave a polite—if slightly wary—smile.

“I know who you are,” she said mildly. “My brothers love hockey.”

“Hell of a playoff run you made last year,” Andy added, winning Clare’s eye at last.

Cash had to hold in an audible sigh of relief as their gazes caught and held. It was one last thing to worry about tonight, though he’s earlier promise to himself did churn the feeling of anxiety buried in his gut.

Luckily he didn’t have long to think about it, because a minute later Elain appeared, hair freshly braided as she announced, “Let’s sit down. Dinner’s almost ready.”

* * *

Another perk of being friends with Nesta—Cash decided as they sat around the table sometime later, plates cleared but glasses still full—was that he got to enjoy Elain’s cooking. They’d started the meal with some sort of wilted spinach and fig salad, and though Cash would have sworn he liked neither figs nor leafy greens, it was delicious. And the meat...The ribs had been braised to perfection, and Elain had subbed the cilantro for the italian parsley in the gremolata topping and made what would have otherwise been a meddlesome condiment into one of Cash’s favorite parts of the dish.

The tiramisu Feyre had made for dessert—though less polished that Elain’s dishes—had been no less delicious, and now Cash was sure he couldn’t eat another bite. He’d protested a bit when Nesta had produced a bottle of limoncello and poured them all a glass, but he couldn’t pretend it hadn’t helped break up the heavy meal.

Now he sat working on his third glass, letting the conversation ebb and flow around him. Mercifully, Clare’s attention had been almost wholly fixed on Andy throughout dinner, which had allowed Cash to focus his attention on Nesta instead.

It had been hard not to read into things when he’d found his place card at the table (because of course Nesta had made place cards) and discovered he’d been seated next to her. What was even harder to ignore was the looks they’d traded or the way her hand had fallen onto his knee as she’d laughed at a story Feyre had told.

Currently his arm was casually strung across the back of her chair, and it was an effort not to play with her hair as he listened to a debate about where the group should go for Lucien’s birthday the following weekend. When someone mentioned karaoke, he snorted.

“Between Feyre and Nesta, would we even survive karaoke?”

“Nesta?” Elain repeated, laughing. “What do you mean, she—”

Feyre cut her off with a hand over her mouth.

“You don’t know,” she said, grin going wicked. “She never told you!”

“Told me what?”

Feyre glanced at Nesta, who only narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“Told me what?” Cash repeated, starting to feel a little sheepish now.

“Nesta’s major in college,” Manon cut in, running a long, pewter-grey fingernail around the rim of her glass.

“I hate you all,” Nesta said, baring her teeth.

Elain cut in, “Nesta was a vocal performance major in college. Opera track.”

Cash turned to Nesta, agog.

“You said you had a terrible singing voice!”

“ _You_ said I had a terrible singing voice,” she corrected, mouth tugging up slightly at the corners. “I just didn’t correct you.”

“You’ve seriously never heard her sing?” Feyre demanded. “It’s breathtaking.”

“Demonstration!” Dorian prompted. “You can’t tell us all that and expect that to be the end of it.”

“Never,” Nesta said, taking an ambitious swallow of limoncello.

However, it was too late. By now the chant had started, candle flames jumping as fists pounded the table.

“Do it, do it, do it!”

“I don’t negotiate with terrorists,” Nesta sniffed, though Cash could see her resolve waning.

“Fine,” Feyre said. “Then you won’t mind if I play this video of you singing ‘Phantom of the Opera’ from freshman year of high—”

“Fine!” Nesta said, half-laughing, half-groaning. “I will sing one song.”

Immediately the Archeron sisters began firing off requests, most of them opera songs Cash was only vaguely familiar with.

“Habanera!”

“No, Queen of the Night aria!”

“Oh, how about the one where you say ‘Figaro’ a million times!”

“I’m not warmed up,” Nesta protested. “No big arias or I’ll blow a chord.”

Elain and Feyre traded a look of consideration before Elain’s eyes lit up.

“Granada.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Feyre agreed. “I love that song.”

Nesta pursed her lips but offered no further retort, and Elain clapped her hands in delight as Feyre took control of the room’s speaker system. They were greeted a second later to the sonorous majesty of a full orchestra, the cavalcade of trumpets and strings indeed reminding Cash of the Flamenco music of Southern Spain.

Nesta got to her feet, kicking off her heels as she pressed a hand to her diaphragm, clearly running through a breathing exercise as the introduction rolled through the speaker.

“Avô would be rolling in his grave if he knew I was singing this,” she muttered, taking a final breath before tipping her chin up and starting to [**sing**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQnSKqZ-XVg), the song a stirring oration about the magic and majesty of Andalusia.

Cash felt his mouth fall open. Nesta’s voice was more beautiful than he practically comprehend. Even when Elain had said “opera”, Cash had imagined something technical and cold; it was neither. The timbre of her voice was smooth and incredibly rich, like honey which had been heated to the perfect temperature.

And her accent...The Castellano sounded so natural on her tongue, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn Spanish was her native language. Or perhaps it wasn’t so much her handling of the language as it was the words, the way she expressed the lyrics in not only her voice, but her posture, her _hands…_

When Nesta finished, Cash found himself at a physical loss for words. Sweet _Jesus_ , and he thought he’d been enamored with her before. Now, after hearing her do that—his heart was sprinting in his chest like he’d just run a mile full-tilt.

Nesta, seemingly abashed by the table’s reaction to her, had busied herself with pouring everyone more digestif, but Cash couldn’t bring himself to stop staring even when she leaned across him to refill his glass.

He couldn’t believe she’d just done that.

And to think he’d once teased her about it and she hadn’t even corrected him...he loved how full of secrets and surprises she was.

Elain gave a slight cough from across the dinner table, and when Cash glanced up at her she rubbed a pointed hand beneath her chin, raising her eyebrows at him in obvious suggestion.

Cash only watched her, confused, before realization dawned: his mouth had literally fallen open watching Nesta, and he’d yet to gather his wits enough to close it.

Cash felt everything he’d been dying to say to her bubbling up in his throat, and he almost told her then, even if in front of all these people. Almost told her how she’d set his world on fire the day he’d met her, and how it had been burning like a beacon ever since.

Company aside, it seemed as good a place as any to do it. The drinks were flowing and spirits were high. If he could just have a moment alone with her, perhaps take her to the rooftop garden, he could finally, finally just tell her the truth.

_Nesta, I adore you, and if you’d let me, I’d spend the rest of my life—_

What was he saying? He couldn’t tell her that, not after she’d worked so hard to wrestle out from underneath the years of abuse Tomás had heaped on her. She deserved to be free, to try new things and sleep with a bunch of strangers, if that’s what she chose.

Besides, if she had wanted to pursue something with him, she would likely have done it on her birthday. Cash’s heart kicked up a beat as he remembered how’d close he’d come to finally touching her, tasting her—but then she’d pulled away, and had given no indication the next morning that it had meant anything to her.

Cash would have to find a way to put Aelin off, he decided as he watched Nesta smile. He was no longer willing to entertain the idea of confessing how he felt when he knew it might only hurt her or push her away. Nesta was his everything, but she could still be that from a distance. 

And maybe— _hopefully_ —the romantic feelings he had for her would eventually fade, and she could just be his best friend. Maybe with time he could come around to the idea of watching her meet someone, and maybe meet someone himself in turn. It seemed impossible to want another woman when he knew Nesta Archeron walked the earth, but he supposed for her sake he could at least try.

Besides, he thought as he looked around at the group, no amount of sex or romance was worth sacrificing the joy he’d found here tonight. If it meant getting to share in more evenings like this with Nesta and her friends, it was worth the emotional blue-balling.

The party dragged on well into the evening, the conversation flowing as freely as the new bottle of wine Cash opened when they’d polished off the limoncello. It was only when a thunderstorm began rumbling around one am that others said goodbye. Manon and Dorian left first, followed by Andy and Clare, whose bedroom eyes had only gotten more nauseating as the night had worn on.

Cash turned to look for Lucien when they slipped out, wanting to see his reaction. However, he and Elain were already asleep on opposite ends of the enormous L-shaped couch in the den. Throwing a blanket onto Lucien, Nesta prompted Cash to pick Elain up and carry her to her own room on the third floor.

Feyre’s door was already closed, and Nesta put a teasing finger to her lips as she and Cash crept back downstairs. The storm arrived a minute later, rain pelting the windows as lightning lit the darkened apartment in alternating bursts.

“I should probably get going,” Cash said. “It’s only supposed to get worse.”

Nesta frowned, though there was something softer shining in her eyes.

“You didn’t drive, did you?”

“Hell no. I’ll just call a car.”

“Or you could stay. It’s not good to be on the road when it’s raining this hard.”

Cash’s head snapped up, though if he’d been hoping for heat in her expression, he was sorely disappointed. Instead she looked sad, the spectre of some long-past horror creating long shadows on her otherwise-lovely face. 

It was her eyes, though, the bleakness in them, that had realization dawning.

“What happened that night?” he asked quietly.

Nesta didn’t seem to need clarification on what he meant, just as he hadn’t needed an explanation to know why it was she didn’t want him getting into a car during a downpour.

“My dad was driving,” she said. “They got caught in a flash flood, and while they were trying to get out of it, another motorist struck them from behind. My mom was killed instantly. They rushed my dad to the hospital, but he died in surgery.”

“I’m so sorry, Nes,” he said.

He expected her to brush it off like she usually did, but instead she wrapped her arms around herself.

“You think it will get easier, and sometimes it is. But others…”

“I know,” he said.

She nodded.

“How did your mom—”

“Cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and he nodded.

“Me too,” he admitted, not sure he was willing to get into the whole thing after all the wine they’d drank. “But I know she’s still with me. And I like to think I’ve made her proud.”

“You have,” she said. “You’re a wonderful man, Cassian.”

There were no words for what her approval meant to him, so he merely nodded towards her bedroom.

“Shall we, then? I’ll sleep on the floor.”

She rolled her eyes, ushering them back into more familiar territory with her bossy tone.

“Don’t be a martyr,” she said. “That bed is huge. I promise not to take advantage of you.”

He grinned.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Cash said, earning another coveted eye roll of her.

“I don’t make me regret this,” she snarled quietly. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Cash woke up on his side, and his attention immediately shot to his legs, which were tangled with Nesta’s. Despite the size of the bed, they’d migrated closer through the night, and now they were practically in each other’s arms. He tried to ignore the fact that one shift of his thigh and he’d have her pretty little sex pressed against him.

Had she done it on purpose? He couldn’t decide. He gingerly shifted, not wanting to embarrass her if it had been involuntary. She ran a foot down his calf in reply, giving a contented noise.

His heart jumped into his throat. He wanted to string an arm around her waist and pull her into him so bad it hurt. He tucked his hands under the pillow instead, watching as her eyes fluttered up.

Goddamnit, she was so beautiful. Without makeup her eyes were piercing against her pale skin, and he wanted to kiss his way across the trail of freckles spanning the bridge of her nose.

Realizing he was staring he forced himself to focus, only to find she was giving a similarly appreciative look.

It wasn’t the first time he’d caught her checking him out, but that had been with a bar between them, not when she’d been lying half-naked beside him.

Gently, he reached out to tuck a silky strand of her hair behind her ear, and his heart nearly burst when she turned to gently rub her cheek against his palm. All that castigating himself last night, and now she was—

He felt his control straining at the gesture, and when she looked up through him through her lashes, it snapped.

He threaded a hand into her hair, scooting a little closer to her. Her lips parted slightly in invitation as he slanted his mouth over hers, and when he hesitated, afraid he might be pushing for something she wasn’t ready to give, she surged forward the remaining distance.

Cash moaned when she sank her teeth into his bottom lip, his tongue brushing hers as he opened for her.

She threaded a hand into his white undershirt to pull him closer and he slid his free hand around her back, resisting the urge to pull her against him. He’d woken up half hard, and the noises she was making had turned his cock to granite. He didn’t want to rush things, and his gut was telling him that they needed to talk things through before they went too far.

Still, he only had so much control, and when she slid her hands under his shirt to explore his abdomen, he let his hands begin to wander as well. He started by running his palm down her back, and when she relaxed at the caress, he ventured lower, hand skimming over the soft cotton of the cheeky underwear she wore. She moaned, and he palmed her heart-shaped ass in response.

Her shirt had ridden up while they’d kissed, and he let his hand trail from her back to her front, gently brushing his fingers across her taut stomach. She exhaled against his lips as he traced her navel, careful to keep his touch gentle as he explored.

Things had gone from zero to one hundred at a dizzying speed, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to take his foot off the gas. He wouldn’t let things go all the way, he promised himself, but that didn’t mean he needed to throw on a chastity belt and jump into a cold shower right this second.

They could just as easily have the conversation about boundaries after he’d gone down on her. Oh god, the idea of getting her out of those panties she was wearing….

When she arched into the palm he splayed across her stomach, he considered the silent invitation before his hand drifted higher.

She let out a quiet exhale as his knuckles brushed the underside of one breast.

She made a small, needy noise as he traveled north, palming her right breast before circling her tight nipple.

He groaned, tongue still tangling with hers.

Her tits were as gorgeously petite as the rest of her, small enough that they fit in his cupped palms. He groaned again as he imagined watching them bounce while she was riding his co—

“Nes, Are you up? We can’t figure out the new espresso machine, and I’m afraid Lucien is gonna break it.”

Nesta jerked back as if Cash had burnt her, clapping a hand over his mouth to keep him silent as she called to Elain, “I will be right there.”

“Thank you!” Elain said through the door. “I’m making breakfast too if you’re hungry.”

“Great,” Nesta called. “Thanks, baby.”

Nesta was up and out of the bed before the sound of Elain’s footsteps had even faded, tripping into yoga pants and throwing a slouchy sweater over the tank-top she’d slept in, through which her nipples were still tortuously visible.

All the languid heat had gone out of her, and she was a column of frosted steel as she turned to him.

“I have to deal with—” she gestured to the door. “You can stay for breakfast if you want.”

She didn’t sound particularly enthused at the prospect, and Cash tried not to let his disappointment show. All his careful planning with Nesta, and now the whole fucking house of cards had come down over one kiss.

He glanced at his watch and swore. And now on top of everything else, this.

“Fuck, I have to go,” he said. “I have rep from a new vineyard coming in—”

“That’s fine,” Nesta said, cutting him off. “You can use the back door if you don’t want to deal with my sisters.”

He’d known Nesta long enough to interpret what she meant— _please use the back door so my sisters don’t see you_ —and though he wanted to fight her on it, he really didn’t have the time.

“Can I call you later?” he asked, tripping into his own clothes now, too. “I want to talk about—”

“Sure,” she interrupted, brushing a dismissive kiss on his cheek. “Good luck with the new rep.”

With that she swept from the room, leaving Cash standing there half-hard, half-clothed and feeling lost.

What the fuck had they just done?

## Next Time _on In Vino Veritas:_

_“Oh, you’re wearing your favorite date outfit! Where are you going?” Elain asked, watching as Nesta strung a glittering hoop through her ear._

_“Tonga.”_

_“But Cash hates Tonga!” Feyre protested with a laugh._

_“I’m not going with Cash. I’m going with Owen. I met him on Hinge.”_

_“ **What?”**_

_“It’s a dating—”  
_

_****“We know what Hinge is,” Elain snapped. “What about Cash?”_

_Nesta grit her teeth, not wanting to get into the whole messy business right now. She just had to do this, and then everything would be fine._

_“What about him?” she said archly. “He’s not my boyfriend.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs Nesta sings is a standard called “Granada” written by Mexican composer Agustín Lara in 1932
> 
> listen to it here: https://youtu.be/RQnSKqZ-XVg


End file.
